


Bye Bye Hollywood Hills

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Hollywood AU, Idek to call it, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, Pining, Reunion Fic, kind of a rom-com?, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 03:39:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: McCann gives him a nod, acknowledging a point well landed, and then comes barrelling right back. "Okay, we can talk about the present. Josh, what's it like working with the guy who all but left you at the altar?"





	Bye Bye Hollywood Hills

**Author's Note:**

> This entire mess is dedicated to FluffyKat because if she hadn’t maintained I could someday finish it, it’d likely be sitting untouched in my WIP folders for another year and a half. Anything that doesn’t suck, thank her. Anything that does suck, blame me.

  
“Oh come on, you’ve got to give me something.”   
  
The interviewer smiles, his expression downright sharklike as he leans forward in his seat. “You’re the star of the biggest blockbuster film in the past fifteen years, a role you were until recently going to turn down in favour of an indie project with your now ex-boyfriend. Are you honestly expecting me to believe you’ve got nothing to say about that?”   
  
The auburn haired man sitting across from him scowls, his temper visibly fraying at the edges as he digs his fingers into the overstuffed arms of his chair. “I came here to talk about the movie, not A - not Vasquez.”   
  
“So it’s just Vasquez now, is it?” The interviewer nods. “Rumour has it you two haven’t spoken in months. In fact, I’m hearing you didn’t even have a proper break up, and that he just took off while you were filming that historical drama in London. Is there any truth to that?”   
  
“Again,” his companion grits out, “I’m only here to talk about my latest project. Nothing else.”   
  
“Sure, sure, but it wasn’t going to be your latest project until your unexpected breakup, right? So, really, it’s kind of like you traded the guy you were seeing in for superstardom, isn’t it?”   
  
“Traded?” The other man repeats incredulously, his green eyes going wide as his emotions finally get the better of him. “I didn’t trade a fucking thing, you asshole. I got home after being away for three months and found my place empty. I haven’t heard a peep from Alejandro fucking Vasquez since that time, and as far as I’m concerned the asshole can stay on the other side of the country and _rot_ !”   
  
The interviewer looks like he’s just struck gold, and he’s still smirking when his guest gets up to storm out. “Well,” he tells the now empty room. “I guess I struck a nerve.”   
  
*****   
  
_Two and a Half Years Later_

  
“Lavender Brook got greenlit,” is the first thing Emma says when Vasquez picks up the phone.   
  
He blinks, momentarily wondering why her voice is so flat, and says, “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” She’s been trying for years to get this particular project off the ground, and he knows how much it means to her.   
  
Emma makes a snorting sound on the other end of the line. “You misunderstand me,” she says before he can ask what’s wrong. “This isn’t a ‘My dream is finally going to come true, so congratulate me’ phone call; it’s a ‘You made a promise to me years ago, so get your ass on a plane and out to LA’ phone call.”   
  
Vasquez blanches. “You can’t be serious,” he tells her. He hasn’t set foot in Los Angeles since he’d left over three years ago and, God willing, he’s never going back. He opens his mouth to tell Emma as much, with as many expletives as required if necessary, but she cuts him off before he can get so much as a word out.   
  
“You made me a promise, Alejandro.” She says in a tone that leaves absolutely no room for argument. “Either get on a plane under your own power, or I will send somebody to New York to physically put you on one.”   
  
“What, I’m not even worthy of being dealt with by you personally? You have to delegate the job to one of your minions?” He tries to pass the whole thing off as a joke, aiming to deflect with humour, and it works about as well as he’d expected.   
Which is to say it doesn’t work at all.   
  
“That’s why I have minions,” Emma snaps. “As it happens, Teddy’s shaping up nicely and I’m sure I could con him out to New York with the promise of a nice end of the year bonus. The question is whether or not you want a man who still looks like a pre-teen standing outside your door giving you puppy dog eyes until you cave and come out here like I need you to.”   
  
“You do not need me for this role, Emma.” Vasquez says firmly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find somebody else to play it. Besides, I’m busy. I have work to do here.”   
  
“I don’t want to find somebody else to do that,” Emma snaps. “I wrote this part for you, and you know it. I had specific people in mind for each and every role and I intend to see that I get them. Also, you are not fucking busy. You told me yourself you don’t start that play with Lucas Whatshisface for months, and you told me you’re not all that excited about it anyway. Stop being an asshole and tell me you’ll keep your word.”   
  
Not for the first time, Vasquez curses Emma’s ability to get important details out of him during their weekly skype sessions. He pinches the bridge of his nose to try and ward off the headache he can feel brewing somewhere around his temples. “I can’t go back to LA, Emma,” he says tiredly. “You know I can’t.”   
  
“Oh?” Emma says, clearly having none of it. “Have you suffered some crippling injury recently that I’m not aware of? One that’s left you physically incapable either travelling or setting foot in places with warm climates?”   
  
“Emma,” he says warningly. “I’m being serious. I know it’s a big city, but there’s still a chance that …” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence.   
  
“What? There’s still a chance that what, Alejandro? That you might actually experience something pleasant for the first time in half a goddamned decade? Gee that does sound terrible.” She makes a scoffing sound. “Oh no, wait, maybe it’s that there’s a chance you’ll manage to pull your head out of your ass for -!”   
  
“That I might run into Joshua,” he shouts over her, loudly enough that he seems to startle her quiet. Breathing heavily he continues on. “I don’t know what his schedule is like these days, obviously it’s none of my business, but if he’s anywhere near LA then that is too close for comfort. I’m sorry.”   
  
There’s silence on the other end of the phone for several, weighted seconds and then Emma says, “You are an idiot.”   
  
“Paranoia keeps you alive,” he replies, even though he’s not sure why she’s saying that this time.   
  
“Yeah, not what I meant.” She says as she continues to bulldoze right over him. “Alejandro, who do you think was the first to sign on with me?”   
  
He freezes, his entire body going numb with something he refuses to admit is terror.   
  
“Emma, Emma, please tell me you didn’t.” Because they both know his protests until now have mostly been for show, but if she’s really gone and done what he thinks she has then there’s no guarantee he can get involved in this mess. The odds of it killing him are far too high.   
  
“He’s still here, Alejandro,” she says, and maybe, maybe she sounds the slightest bit remorseful but he doesn’t think so. “He never left, so of course I went to him first.”   
  
“Emma, no.” He says, aghast. “I can’t work with him! How can you even ask me that after everything that’s happened?”   
  
“He’s willing to work with you,” she says. “I made sure of that before I asked him to come onboard. Also, forgive me if I’m out of line, but I’d say he’s the one who got burned last time, wouldn’t you agree?”   
  
Vasquez refuses to acknowledge the hot spike of shame that lodges itself directly between his shoulder blades. “Who did what to who doesn’t matter at this point,” he says instead. “There’s no way this is going to work.”   
  
He hears her sigh on the other end of the phone, and when she speaks again her tone of voice is one that promises dire retribution should he dare to continue to defy her on this one. “Alejandro, it is going to work. The reason being, if it does not work, I will strangle you to death with my own bare hands. I won’t even get my assistant to do it for me.”   
  
She pauses then, breathing heavily. “I want you out here by the end of the week. If you’re not, I’m coming after you, and I will make you regret it.”   
  
*****   
  
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”   
  
Faraday glances up from where he’s been fiddling with his phone for the better part of the last five minutes and looks across the desk at the agent who’s represented him for his entire career. “Really.” He says flatly. “That’s where you’re going with this? Not, jeez, Joshua, I can’t believe you’re doing this to yourself. Isn’t it going to be like picking at the nastiest scab imaginable for three straight months?”   
  
Across from him, Bart takes a final drag from his cigarette and then stubs it out in the nearest available ashtray. “Jeez, Joshua, I can’t believe you’re doing this to yourself. Isn’t it going to be like picking at the nastiest scab imaginable for three straight months?” He deadpans.   
  
Snorting, Faraday stuffs his phone in his coat pocket, and gives the smarmy bastard the closest thing he can to a grin. “I’m really feeling the love here, old man.”   
  
Bart snorts in turn. “Joshua, we both know you’re determined to do this, no matter what I say. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have signed onto the project without telling me first.”   
  
“Yeah, well, you would’ve just tried to talk me out of it if I had,” Faraday points out reasonably.   
  
Bart is not so easily swayed, as is evidenced by the fact that his eyebrows turn down in an obvious frown in a rare show of emption from him. “Of course I would have,” he doesn’t quite snap. “This is – Joshua I don’t want a repeat of where you were three years ago.”   
  
“And you won’t get one,” Faraday says before Bart can start dredging up examples of exactly how he’d behaved during that period in his life. “I can handle this. I know what I’m doing.”   
  
“You never know what you’re doing.” Bart replies. “If you did, you wouldn’t need me to run your life for you.”   
  
“That is something of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Faraday asks.   
  
“I do not, as it happens. You have a tendency to do stupid things when I’m not around to temper you. Stupid things,” Bart stresses, “like sign on to indie projects with your frankly potentially unhinged ex-boyfriend.”   
  
“Ale is not unhinged,” Faraday says firmly, protesting the way he always does when someone says something rude about the man.   
  
Bart just shakes his head sadly. “I can’t believe, after all this time, that you still defend him.” He eyes Faraday until he starts to squirm under his gaze, wriggling in his chair like a child that’s being scolded. “The man almost ruined you, Joshua. If I hadn’t thrown all those roles at you after he left, I don’t know what you would have done with yourself.”   
  
“Probably best not to speculate on the matter,” Faraday says, he’s willing to admit that he hadn’t been in the best headspace following Ale’s abrupt departure. Bart’s insistence that he distract himself with work had been nothing short of a godsend, safely removing him from the bulk of the drinking he’d been engaging in, and the fact that it had inadvertently catapulted him into superstardom certainly hadn’t hurt.   
  
“Look,” he says, shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, “I’m not doing this because I want to win Ale back. I’m over him,” he pointedly ignores Bart’s snort, “I’m doing this because I promised Emma years ago that I would if the chance ever came up. I owe her almost as much as I owe you, so if she’s calling in a favour I’m going to answer.”   
  
“This is going to end poorly,” Bart says, and it’s not quite a hiss, but it’s near enough to one to count.   
  
Faraday shrugs. “If it does, I’ll let you say ‘I told you so’ once the dust settles.”   
  
Bart sighs and pulls another cigarette from his vest pocket. Flicking open his favorite lighter – one that Faraday suspects cost as much as some people’s cars – he lights it and takes a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly. “I’m going to hold you to that.”   
  
*****   
  
Faraday had waited until the last possible second to tell Bart he’d signed on for Emma’s new project – or old project depending on how you wanted to look at it – and he’d done so on purpose. If he’d given Bart any time to protest, there would have been a solid chance the man would have managed to talk Faraday out it. This is why he scheduled their meeting mere hours before he’s due to meet Emma on set.   
  
“Why do you look guilty?” Emma asks when he wanders into her office a little while later. She peers at her watch and then looks back up at him suspiciously. “You’re not even late for once, what’s up with you?”   
  
Faraday shrugs and drops down into one of the empty seats across from her. He likes Emma’s office way more than he does Bart’s. Where Bart goes for over the top and ostentatious, Emma goes for down to earth and relaxed. There’s a world of difference between their personalities and that’s at its most evident in their decorating styles.   
  
“I have no idea what you mean,” Faraday says airily. He takes a second look at her, and something alarming pings in the back of his hindbrain. “Why do you look guilty?”   
  
Before she can answer, there’s a soft click as the door he’d just come in through opens again, and a deep, accented, and above all else horrendously familiar voice says, “Oh, sorry. Teddy said I should just come in.”   
  
Faraday feels his shoulders stiffen without conscious thought, and he gives Emma his best betrayed look. Unsurprisingly, she simply meets his gaze head on, completely unruffled. Honestly, Faraday’s jealous. He can make his face do anything he wants when he’s in front of a camera, but the second he’s back in the real world he’s an open book.   
  
Slowly, so as to prolong his lack of proof as long as possible, Faraday turns in his seat, and he doesn’t quite manage to hold back a gasp when he lays eyes on the man who’s just come in.   
Ale looks, well he looks like Ale. He looks like the man Faraday had fallen in love with all those years ago, and damn but if that doesn’t feel like a punch in the gut even after all this time.   
  
He also, Faraday notes with no small sense of satisfaction, looks as blindsided as Faraday feels.   
  
“Joshua,” he says, stumbling a little over the name as he visibly swallows.   
  
“Vasquez.” Faraday says, deciding that a more formal greet might be for the best. He wishes he could think of anything else to add, but all the carefully crafted statements he’s thought up over the years – statements prepared on the off chance that Ale would ever again let him close enough to get them out – seem to have vanished in the face of an actual meeting.     
  
They’re both saved from having to try to think of anything else to say by Emma clearing her throat. Turning to look at her, Faraday frowns as she flashes a bright and undeniably fake smile. “Well, I’m pleased to see you’ve managed to be in each other’s presence for a full minute without it generating into anything unfortunate. Let’s see if we can keep that up, shall we?”   
  
Refusing to look at anyone else, Faraday crosses his arms over his chest and gives her a sulky glare. “This is you playing dirty pool, Emma,” he grumbles. “I expected better of you.”   
  
“No, you didn’t.” She replies without flinching.   
  
Faraday hears more than he sees Ale settle down in the seat beside him. Part of him wants to look over at him, to drink him all in after having gone so long without being near him, but the sane part of him, the part that knows exactly how bad of an idea that is, luckily wins out. He stares straight ahead at Emma. “No, I didn’t,” he admits with a sigh.   
  
Ale makes a noise that might be a sign of commiseration. Faraday refuses to check and see.   
  
“Sooo,” he says after they’ve all sat in silence for longer than is reasonably necessary. “Now what?”   
  
Emma rolls her eyes and pulls a set of scripts out from somewhere in the depths of her desk. She thumps one package each down in front of them. “Now we get to work.”   
  
*****   
  
Vasquez exits Emma's office to the discovery that Rosario has dragged him and every last one of their remaining siblings into a group chat, wherein they've all seen fit to start blowing up his phone while he's been busy. She's started off with a text demanding to know if he's seen Joshua yet, and kept messaging until she's gotten the other six responding as well.   
  
He sighs, suddenly feeling every minute of the thirteen year age difference between the two of them, and begins thumbing his way through the conversation. According to the count at the top of the screen, he has seventy one unanswered messages. In hindsight, he supposes he should be grateful there are so few. Past experience has seen him come face to face with literally hundreds of texts to parse through when they really wanted something from him.   
  
A couple of the girls have thought to ask him how _he's_ doing - it's not much of a surprise to see concern from Carmen, who's always had the softest disposition of all, but he's a little surprised Sofia's managed to tear herself away from whatever sports team she's involved with today to ask if he wants to talk - but most of the comments are about Joshua, with a few more inquiring about Emma's wellbeing.   
  
_You're all a bunch of animals_ , he tells them once he's read through everything and decided there's nothing there that requires an immediate response from him, _like sharks smelling blood in the water._

  
Three texts come in almost instantaneously, followed within seconds by two more. Unsurprisingly, it looks like everyone who can be is currently glued to their phones.   
  
Rosa, the brat, has sent him what he thinks is an emoji of a shark fin swimming through water followed by a kissy face. Sofia's _Can you blame us???_ is accompanied by a _What Sof_ said from Silvia, indicating that whatever the twins are up to today, they're doing it together, and Carmen's _We're just worried about you, Ale,_ is the most damning of all until he reads Lena's _We're allowed to ask how he's doing - he was important to us too._

  
Breathing heavily through his nose, Vasquez spares a moment to be grateful that Isabella and especially Francesca appear to be caught up with other things right now, and considers what, if anything to say to the five who are no doubt expecting an answer from him.   
  
"I know that look," an amused voice says, and Vasquez turns around to find Joshua leaning up against the now closed door of Emma's office, his eyes dancing. "The girls still enjoy blowing up your phone all at once, I see."   
  
"Ah - yes," Vasquez says slowly, wishing he knew for sure what a safe answer would be. "They're as chatty as ever." He doesn't know what makes him keep going, but he follows this up with, "Lena wants to know how you're doing."   
  
Joshua looks momentarily startled at this, but it quickly fades into something much more akin to pleased, if not touched. "Tell her I'm good, and thanks for asking."   
  
Vasquez obediently types out this reply, and stuffs his phone into his pocket so he doesn't have to see how much of a frenzy that's going to send the girls into. "I'm sure they'll all be happy to hear that."   
  
Joshua's face does something Vasquez can't manage to parse out, his mouth opening and closing a few times until he pushes away from the door and takes a couple tentative steps towards bridging the distance between them. "How're they?"   
  
He probably thinks it's a safe question, a topic unlikely to cause strife or an onset of rampant emotion since Vasquez has historically always been ready and willing to tell him about the new scrapes his sisters have gotten into. It's not his fault he couldn't be more wrong.   
  
"They're fine," Vasquez says shortly, his voice going clipped without his permission. "All good."   
  
Joshua frowns. It's clear he knows he's just said something upsetting, but has no idea why. "I was only asking," he says finally, and damnit if he doesn't sound some mixture of hurt and annoyed. "They were a big part of my life for a long time, jackass. It sucked when they went radio silent too."   
  
It's on the tip of Vasquez's tongue to tell him they hadn't exactly done so by choice, had in fact needed to be begged and cajoled into agreeing to do it, but it's not like there's any point. The past is in the past and nothing he says is going to change that.   
  
"They're good," he says instead, figuring if he throws Joshua a bone he might be more likely to get off his back. "Izzy's in Paris for a month for work, the twins are still playing every sport under the sun, Lena," and please god don't let his voice catch on that one, "just graduated high school, but doesn't know what she wants to do yet, while Carmen got into med-school. Rosa's the same as ever, forever hates being the youngest, and Franny ..." _has never forgiven me for what I did to you_ "... is getting married. Next summer. To an accountant."   
  
Joshua makes a face. "An accountant?" He echoes, and Vasquez laughs a little.   
  
"Yes, we were surprised too." He shrugs. "He makes her happy."   
  
That, he knows instantly without anyone telling him so, is the wrong fucking thing to say. Joshua's entire face shuts down, and when he speaks his voice is brittle. "Well, she wouldn't stay with someone who didn't make her happy. We both know that's not how your family rolls."   
  
The crack shouldn't sting as much as it does after all this time, but apparently no one's seen fit to tell his traitorous heart that. Vasquez winces. "Joshua ..."   
  
"It's fine," Joshua says, cutting him off. "Water under the bridge. Tell Franny I said congrats. Lena and Carmen too. That's some big news for all of them."   
  
"Uh, sure. I will." Vasquez watches curiously as Joshua gives him a tight lipped smile, and then brushes past him to head for the elevator. He keeps watching as the doors slide shut behind him, and then sags back against the nearest wall, feeling it as his phone buzzes continuously in his pocket.   
  
All in all, he supposes that could have gone worse.   
  
*****   
  
Faraday’s pretty sure his tie is trying to strangle him, and he’s ducked behind a screen of potted plants tugging at it futilely when Emma finds him.   
  
“Seriously?” She asks, arching a russet-colored eyebrow at him as she shoves large, leafy fronds out of her face and sighs. “Teddy and I had a bet over which of you would hide away tonight. Congratulations, you’ve just cost me fifty dollars and the respect of my assistant. I’m going to remember this.”   
  
“I’m not hiding,” Faraday grunts, yanking at the tie some more. “I’m just – ugh – fix this, will you? I don’t know what it’s doing, but it’s not what it’s supposed to.”   
  
“What am I, your mother?” Huffing, she nevertheless shuffles further into the space he’s found for himself. Shoving the sleek black purse she’s holding under the crook of her arm, she reaches out, perfectly manicured nails glinting as the light catches her fingers, and takes the fabric in hand. “Look at the mess you’ve made. Honestly, this is pathetic.”   
  
“I know,” he groans, and Emma gives him a shrewd look.   
  
Whatever she sees there must make her decide to take pity on him because the frown that’s been steadily growing since she’d found him fades, and she returns to the task at hand with a soft sigh. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve at least thought to wear a tie. It seems three years wasn’t long enough to make Ale stop hating the things. He looks like he should be at a debauchery riddled modelling shoot, not a dinner to play nice with investors.”   
  
“Wonderful,” Faraday mutters because it’s either that or whimper at the picture Ale’s no doubt out somewhere cutting. “How dos he still look exactly the same after all this time?”   
  
“He doesn’t,” Emma grunts, twisting the tie around two fingers as she begins to redo it. “He’s got frown lines and I’d bet at least a couple of grey hairs. You just haven’t noticed because being around him is distracting you so much.”   
  
Once she’s got Faraday’s tie secured and back in its proper place, she pats him on the chest a little harder than necessary. “It’s one of the reasons I set tonight up. I need you two to prove you can not only get along, but act like normal people around each other before I put you in front of a camera. You think you can do that?”   
  
“No.” He says, and she pinches him. “Ow! Okay, fine.” Rubbing the now aching spot on his arm – his suit jacket hadn’t been enough to stand up to her grip – he rolls his eyes and then squares his shoulders. “I’m just kidding. I said I could do this, and I can. Will. I’m all in, Emma. I promise.”   
  
She eyes him searchingly for a few moments, eventually nodding in satisfaction when she’s done looking for whatever she hopes to find. “Good because there’re a bunch of reporters out there who want the two of you and Jack. Come on.”   
  
He allows her to drag him out in the open, letting her steer him through the crowd with a slender hand curved around his elbow, not unlike a tiny tug towing an ocean liner where it needs to be. Flashing a trademarked smile at anyone who turns to look at them, he nods at one or two people he knows, keeping that up until they reach the sprawling fountain that dominates the room.   
  
Ale’s already there, looking both fabulous and uncomfortable at the same time as he makes small talk with a woman wearing a dress that’s such a vibrant shade or orange it makes Faraday’s eyes water. “Someone should tell her that color does nothing for her,” Faraday mutters as they approach, and Emma’s grip tightens painfully on his arm.   
  
“That’s one of our top investors there,” she growls, low enough that no one else will hear her, but not so low that he misses the obvious threat in her tone. “If you don’t play nice I will have you strung up from the roof rafters. To hell with how much Matthew will complain about having to visit me in jail.”   
  
The woman turns as they approach, her smile widening as she spots them. “Emma,” she says, extending a hand to shake, one that Emma gladly reaches out to take. “There you are. I wanted to say what a lovely party you’ve got going here, and look who you’ve brought with you.”   
  
Here she casts Faraday a look that puts him immediately in mind of a hunter stalking its prey. He swallows without meaning to. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all night, Mr. Faraday.”   
  
“Joshua’s fine, ma’am,” Faraday says, putting on his best ‘aw shucks, southern boy’ persona without needing Emma to tell him to. “I have it on good authority you played a big part in gettin’ this project off the ground, so thanks.”   
  
“Marcella’s the top investor in the film,” Emma says to Ale, who smiles the smile he does when he’d dearly love to escape from somewhere but knows he can’t. Faraday knows that one well. “I assume you’ve been providing her with decent company.”   
  
“Oh, he’s charming,” Marcella says, patting Ale on the arm like he’s a puppy who’s just learned a new trick. “He let me prattle on about my family for ages without begging me to shut up. Did you know he’s got a sister the same age as my oldest grandchild?”   
  
“Given that he’s got about eight thousand sisters, I’m not overly surprised by that.” Emma says with a laugh. Then she makes a show of looking around the nearby area. “Where’s Richard tonight? Don’t tell me you left him home?”   
  
“No, he’s around here somewhere.” Marcella looks around as well and laughs. “It looks like I’ve lost him again, I’m forever doing that at these things. I should go find him though. I’ll see you all later.”   
  
She bustles off into the crowd with a quick wave, and Ale lets out a relieved sigh in her wake. “Sweet woman, but somewhat terrifying.”   
  
Emma gives him a look. “Deal with it. She liked you, and I want her to keep giving me her money.”   
  
Ale briefly holds his hands up in surrender before stuffing them in the pockets of his pants. He looks as amazing as ever, all in black except for the brilliant white blaze of his dress shirt, which he’s left unbuttoned at the top, baring the tanned column of his throat and the medallion he has sitting there on a thin leather cord. Faraday despairs of the picture he makes.   
  
He also despairs of Emma, who chooses this moment to release her grip on him. “Like Marcella, I should also go locate my husband. Not to mention Jack. You two stay here while I go find them, and we can get the bulk of the media circus over for tonight.”   
  
“And what about the media circus for every other night?” Faraday wants to know, but he may as well be talking to thin air. Emma’s gone between one blink and the next, leaving him alone with Ale in a room full of people. Wonderful. He shuffles over a few steps so that he can mirror Ale’s position and put the fountain at his back, careful to maintain several inches of distance between the two of them as he does so.   
  
“Nice place,” he says after several seconds of painfully awkward silence have ticked by. It’s a small talk topic maybe one step up from that of the weather, but it’s all he’s got right now.   
  
“It’s a good venue,” Ale says finally. “Large. Airy.”   
  
“Right, yeah.” Faraday rushes to agree. “Not claustrophobic at all.”   
  
The room is indeed large and airy; it’s also clustered with various people who’re going to be involved with the film, not only the actors but people from all ranges of the business. As Faraday casts his gaze about the space in search of another safe topic to broach, his eyes land on Billy Rocks, Emma’s preferred stunt coordinator, and he raises his hand in a little wave. Billy dips his head in acknowledgement, surprising him when he repeats the motion a second time for Ale.   
  
“You know, Rocks?” Faraday asks. As far as he’s aware, Billy works exclusively on the west coast, but maybe he’s branched out somewhat in recent years.   
  
“Not well,” Ale replies, giving Faraday a one shoulder shrug. “His husband is good friends with my agent. I’ve met them once or twice when they visited New York.”   
  
“Leni is friends with Goodnight Robicheaux?” The words are startled out of Faraday before he can even think to hold them back, but in his defence Ale’s agent is a straight-laced terror of a woman who thinks pantsuits are dressing down. Faraday had once seen her produce a seventy two slide PowerPoint presentation about how to behave on the red carpet. Picturing her sitting down for a few beers with a man with Robicheaux’s reputation boggles the mind.   
  
Ale cocks his head to the side, surprise evident on his face. “I haven’t worked with Leni in years. She said she couldn’t trust me to maintain commitments if I’d move so abruptly without warning her, and also,” here his voice takes on a mocking lilt as he imitates Leni’s no nonsense tone, “I was all but impossible to place for jobs and a walking media nightmare.”   
  
He flashes Faraday a grin that’s a shadow of the ones he’d used to make. “Good thing I like theatre so much, no? When Sam – the new agent who replaced her, the one who knows Robicheuax – started working with me, he suggested returning to that route.”   
  
“Well,” Faraday licks suddenly dry lips, unsure of what to do with all this new information. He’s learned more about what Ale’s been up to in the last three seconds than he has in the three years previous. He searches for something to say, eventually landing on, “Leni was a harpy anyway. What’s the new guy like?”   
  
“Perpetually exasperated,” Ale says with a laugh. “He thinks I can’t function without him. Pity for me, he’s probably right.”   
  
“But he’s good though?” Faraday presses, unsure of why, but needing to know that Ale’s got somebody he feels comfortable with. “You like working with him?”   
  
If Ale finds the question strange, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he laughs again, the sound a fond one. “He reminds me … very much of my mother. Or of anyone’s mother, really. I’ve been nagged by him on everything from my job choices down to my eating habits.”   
  
Faraday snorts at this. “Good. You’re eating habits are terrible, and one of these days they’re going to catch up with you no matter how much you work out.”   
  
“Hasn’t happened yet,” Ale replies, grinning and patting his admittedly very flat stomach with one hand.   
  
“Yeah, well, genetics and the gym can only do so much.” Faraday informs him. He remembers Ale’s vaunted appetite, not to mention the truly impressive sweet tooth that had come with it, and decides this is all the more reason for it to be unfair that the man looks as good as he does. “You got a personal trainer these days?”   
  
“Not a regular one, no. Sometimes I use one for certain projects, but for the most part the work I do doesn’t require that kind of effort.” He looks at Faraday, eyes dancing the way they used to whenever he found something really funny. “Why? Don’t tell me you do?”   
  
“We can’t all be blessed with the kind of metabolism that lets us eat an entire tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream in one sitting with no repercussions.” Faraday replies loftily, following this declaration up with, “His name is Red, and I’m pretty sure he can sense whenever I so much as look at something that’s not in my diet plan. I hate him.”   
  
Ale gives him a look, his smile warping slightly. “No, you don’t. I know what you look like when you hate someone. You’re good friends, aren’t you?”   
  
Faraday scuffs one of his dress shoes along the ground, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. “Well, don’t go spreading it around,” he says finally. “I’d never hear the end of it if you did.”   
  
“Your secret is safe with me,” Alejandro promises.   
  
_Yeah, you’re good at keeping those_ , Faraday thinks. It’s on the tip of his tongue to say so aloud, but the thought of Emma’s reaction stops him in his tracks. He’d promised to be on his best behaviour, so on his best behaviour he shall be.   
  
He considers and discards a few more questions until he finds one he thinks should be safe. “You ever done any work with Horne? I hear he’s an east coast guy too. Lives in New York if I’m right.”   
  
“You are right, but, no, I’ve never worked with him. I’ve met him, Sam’s actually his agent too, but this is our first project together.” Ale wrinkles his nose and chuckles. “He’s a bit on the odd side, but I think you’ll like him.”   
  
“I’ve seen some his stuff from before he retired from film, or sort of retired I guess, since he’s coming here. So long as he delivers the kind of performances he has in the past, I’m all for working with him.”   
  
“I’m sure he will, he …” Ale trails off suddenly, his eyes widening just a little as he focuses on something behind Faraday and to the right.   
  
“Well well well,” an unexpected voice purrs as Bart slips out of the crowd and comes to a stop next to Faraday. “I’m surprised to see you boys getting along so well. How’ve you been, Vasquez? It’s been years since we last spoke.”   
  
“Bogue,” Ale says flatly, every trace of good humour and gentle teasing instantly fading from his posture. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”   
  
“Good good, glad to hear it,” Bart says. “And your family? All those little sisters of yours must be grown up by now.”   
  
Faraday abruptly remembers that Ale’s sisters are apparently a sensitive subject when the other man’s mouth tightens so much his lips go white at the corners.   
  
“They are also fine,” Ale says shortly. “Every last one of them.”   
  
Bart hums thoughtfully, whatever’s bothering Ale about this conversation clearly not an issue for him. “And your mother? How’s she?”   
  
“I need a drink,” Ale says in lieu of answering. His voice is clipped and his posture stiff as he backs away from Faraday and Bart. “I’m going to the bar.”   
  
Faraday starts to remind him that Emma had wanted them to stay put, but it’s no use. Ale gives Bart one last baleful look before turning on his heel and stalking away, his shoulders tight and his stride that of a man who’s not going to take kindly to being interrupted. As soon as he’s gone, Faraday rounds on his agent.   
  
“What the hell was that?” He hisses, baffled by what he just witnessed. “We were getting along! There was no trouble, no drama, nothing that was going to cause a media frenzy. Why the fuck did you come over?”   
  
Bart gives him a look that he probably means to be sheepish, but doesn’t really succeed. “Sorry, Joshua. I saw you two alone and may have panicked a little. You know I’m concerned about the repercussions of this film.”   
  
“There aren’t going to be any repercussions, Bart,” Faraday says. “At least not bad ones. I’ve told you that a hundred times already. I know what I’m fucking doing.”   
  
“Alright, alright, I said I was sorry.” Bart raises his hands to ward off any further tirades from Faraday’s direction. “It won’t happen again.”   
  
“No shit,” Faraday grunts. “I don’t know what you said, but he just did a total one eighty in five seconds flat. I doubt he’s going to want to talk to me anymore tonight.”   
  
“That’s a shame,” Bart says, “but, honestly, you heard what I said. It wasn’t anything that should’ve upset him. He’s probably just on edge with this whole … mess.” Bart sweeps his gaze around the room and the people milling about, curling his lip in distaste as he does so. “I’ve never had to do an event like this before a client even started filming. You don’t find this a little concerning?”   
  
Faraday shrugs. “Emma’s reasoning made sense to me.”   
  
“Ah, yes. Emma. Where’s she got to?”   
  
“Looking for Horne so that we can start the media part of the night.” Faraday levels Bart with his best disapproving stare, which admittedly doesn’t hold a candle to Bart’s own. “Ale and I were supposed to stay here, so she wouldn’t be stuck chasing all three of us around trying to get things organized.”   
  
Bart shrugs, unconcerned. “You heard him say he’s gone to the bar. It’s not like he’ll be hard to find.”   
  
Faraday supposes this is true, but he can’t help but feel a pang of regret knowing that the easy comradery he and Ale had managed to find will likely have vanished by the time he gets back. He sighs, and wonders if maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to grab a drink himself.   
  
As if he can read Faraday’s mind, Bart says, “Don’t even think about it, you’ve got a reputation to maintain, and I’ve already pulled enough bottles out of your hand thanks to that idiot.”   
  
Faraday sighs again.   
  
*****   
  
Emma reappears not long after with her husband and a giant of a man in tow. Faraday recognizes Jack Horne instantly, his size and full beard making him stick out no matter who’s in the room, but he’s not expecting the gentle grip when he offers the man his hand to shake. “Mr. Horne,” he says easily, “I’m a big fan of your work.”   
  
“Likewise,” Horne replies, and even his voice is softer than Faraday had anticipated. “I’ve heard only good things about you. From Vasquez in particular.”   
  
Faraday freezes, accidentally maintaining his grip on Horne’s hand for longer than is appropriate. “He, uh, didn’t mention that.”   
  
Horne winks. “He wouldn’t.”   
  
“Yes, yes,” Emma cuts in and shoves her way between them, looking first at Horne and then glaring up at Faraday. “Speaking of Vasquez. I can’t help but note that he is not, in fact, here. Where’d he go?”   
  
“To get a drink,” Faraday says immediately, not wanting to feel Emma’s wrath on the off chance she decides to hold him responsible for Ale wandering off. “He’s over at the bar.”   
  
This is apparently not enough to satisfy Emma, who’s got a look in her eye like she’s precariously balanced on a knife edge, and Matthew, the saint that he is, intercedes before she can burst a blood vessel.   
  
“I’ll just go get him, why don’t I?” He says smoothly, giving his wife a gentle pat on the arm. “I’ve barely seen him since he’s been back in town. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”   
  
“I don’t need you two catching up, I need him working!” Emma hisses at his retreating back, but if Matthew hears this he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Ugh. Remind me again why I married him?”   
  
“Because you love him, I expect.” Horne tells her, smiling crookedly when she sighs and nods at practically the same time. “That’s usually the reason in my experience.”   
  
Emma offers him a smile of her own. “There is that, I suppose. Are you married, Jack?”   
  
Horne holds up his left hand, revealing a thick gold band wrapped around one large finger. “My Maya and I will be married thirty four years this coming fall. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long.”   
  
“I’ll bet,” Emma agrees. “Matthew and I just hit six, and I feel like it flew by.”   
  
Horne nods his head in understanding and mentions something about how he feels that’s the sign of a healthy marriage, and Faraday tries not to make a face. He’d taken Ale with him to Emma and Matthew’s wedding, a fact he desperately wishes he could forget at the moment, almost as much as he wishes they could put an end to all this marital talk.   
  
He’s had a few passing flings and one frankly unexpected friends with benefits scenario over the past five years, but nothing that can compare to what his companions are talking about.   
  
Eventually Matthew rematerializes with Ale trailing along behind him, a fact that Faraday doesn’t know if it’s better or worse. It does have the benefit of making Horne and Emma shut up, but also reinforces his lonely status tenfold. Faraday curses his earlier self’s decision to listen to Bart and not get a drink.   
  
Luckily Emma takes Ale’s arrival as her cue to get them all put to work. She deftly removes the wine glass from the man’s hand – which probably doesn’t even have wine in it since Ale prefers whiskey – telling him he can have it back once they’re done chatting with all the lovely media folks who’ve come here to see them tonight. The undermining threat of ‘blow this for me and I’ll kick all your asses’ is missed by no one.   
  
From there the night devolves into what’s essentially one giant media scrum. Faraday’s well versed in the things by now, although, for obvious reasons he gets more questions about Ale than he has in a while, and the reporters are all disappointed that they can’t get just the two of them in an interview somehow. Faraday has a sneaking suspicion that’s coming down the road, but for now just plasters his best ‘dealing with the media’ grin on his face and goes about his business.   
  
Ale keeps up a similar expression, though his is a little tighter than Faraday suspects the one on his own face to be, smiling congenially at anyone who talks to him. He still has a knack for charming people one on one and getting them to swoon at his feet, but it’s clear to Faraday that he’d rather be anywhere else. A fact that’s made all the more obvious when he vanishes into the cool night air the moment he’s able.   
  
Faraday watches him go, and thinks long and hard about what he should or should not do in this situation. By all rights it’d be a good idea for him to give Ale some space and let him stew over whatever it is that’s set him off. On the other hand, however, if it was him or his agent, who is in a sense him by proxy, who trigged whatever’s going on here, that’s a problem too.   
  
Groaning, he decides to bite the bullet and go after his wayward ex. Emma will give him hell if he causes a scene, but she’ll do the same thing if he and Ale can’t reach at least a tentative agreement for the course of filming this movie.   
  
He notices the wine glass Ale had brought over with him earlier resting abandoned on the table where Emma had put it so she could join them in a number of the photos, and an idea occurs to him. Picking it up, he curls his fingers around the stem and moves in the direction of the doors Ale had ducked through several minutes before. They lead out to a plant covered patio, one with enough privacy for various conversations, so Faraday figures this is as safe a place as any.   
  
Ale isn’t visible when Faraday first steps outside, but his voice drifts over from somewhere, albeit low enough that Faraday can’t make any words out. Faraday hadn’t thought he’d come out here with anyone, and he realizes he’s right as he draws nearer. Ale’s sitting on a bench not far from the patio railing, talking rapidly to someone on his cellphone.   
  
Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he feels his face flush as Ale’s head jerks up and he whirls around to look at him. “I’ll call you back,” he murmurs to whoever’s on the other side of the phone, thumbing it off and sliding it into his jacket pocket as Faraday draws nearer. “Joshua, did you need something?”   
  
“Brought you your drink,” Faraday tells him, holding it up for proof. “Figured you might be wanting it.”   
  
“Ah. Gracias, gu – thank you. I forgot I left it inside.” He reaches up to reclaim it, knocking back a heavy swig once it’s in his hand, making a face as he swallows. “One would think, with all the money that goes into these events, that they could buy some decent booze.”   
  
“Some of them are better than others,” Faraday agrees. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he adds, “We should talk.”   
  
His glass halfway to his mouth again, Ale pauses. He lowers it slowly. “What about?”   
  
Jesus, where does he start? “About, I don’t know. How we’re going to manage this, I guess. You don’t think this is going to be difficult?”   
  
“Of course I do,” Ale shoots back. At least he’s honest there. “I didn’t want to come here. I only did because Emma wouldn’t back down, and Sam thought it was time I got back into film. A fact that he’s just confirmed with me he stands by, as crazy as this all is.”   
  
Great. Wonderful. Manfully keeping a lid on his temper, as well as any other emotions that might try to break free in light of the fact that whatever he did to make Ale unable to stand being around him is still thoroughly in place, Faraday sucks in a deep breath and lets it out as slowly as he can. It’s a trick Red taught him ages ago that works far better than counting to ten in his head.   
  
“Right,” he says once he’s done, “hence why we should talk and figure out how we’re going to make this work. We’ve got months of filming ahead of us, plus the press tour, where you know they’ll stick us together. How in the hell are we going to make it through that if we can’t even handle a five minute conversation in a crowded room?”   
  
“Man, cut me some slack,” he says when all his questions are met with is a heavy silence. “I swear to god, I’m trying my hardest here.”   
  
“And I appreciate that,” Ale insists. “It’s just – Joshua, it’s hard. Between you and Bogue and – and everything else. It’s just hard.”   
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Faraday says, his grip on his temper inevitably slipping. “Bart didn’t even do anything to you. He came over because he was worried about me, and he was still perfectly polite to you. All he did was ask how your sisters are doing. Since when is that a crime?”   
  
Ale jerks like he’s been slapped, almost spilling his drink everywhere in his rush to climb to his feet. “You have no idea – no, no, I promised myself I would not do this. You’re right. We need to be able to work together, and I shouldn’t have stalked away like I did. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Visibly getting a grip on himself, he stares over at Faraday, eyes glinting in the dim light. “I’ll behave myself. Is that enough?”   
  
Thoroughly thrown by literally everything that’s taken place over the course of this conversation, Faraday’s unsure of how to respond. “I’m not – I wasn’t trying to upset you, honest.”   
  
“Well it seems we’re very good at upsetting each other whether we’re trying or not.” Ale says snidely enough that it sends Faraday’s temper ratcheting right back up again.   
  
“Fine,” he growls, wishing very strongly they were someplace where he could exercise his frustrations through a little destruction of property. It’s probably a good thing for the state of his kitchenware at home that they’re not. “If that’s how you want to play this, then fine, but don’t fucking say I didn’t try, asshole. Because I did. You’re the one who’s being difficult.”   
  
He moves to stomp off then, having no intention of stopping until he’s reached his car and the relative safety it might provide, only to be brought up short before he’s made it more than a few steps.   
  
“Joshua, wait. Please.” Ale’s voice is low and sad, and Faraday curses the fact that he’s still automatically wired to try and make that go away whenever he hears it. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”   
  
_For what? For tonight, or everything you did before?_ Unable to vocalize that question because he’s terrified of the answer, Faraday struggles to get himself under control in the face of Ale’s apology. He clenches and unclenches his fists repeatedly, his fingernails digging into his palms so hard that it’s a wonder his hands aren’t bleeding.   
  
“We’re both professionals,” he says finally, deciding if he can make this more about work and less about them than he might have a chance of getting through it. “We’ve been in this business for years, we’ve been successful at it, and we’ve each worked with people we didn’t like before now. We can do this.”   
  
“Sí, we can.” Ale agrees, though he sounds less than convinced. “It’s just – it’s just business, right? Just a job.”   
  
“Exactly,” Faraday says, injecting as much false bravado into his voice as he can since Ale’s never been just anything to him, and if tonight has proven anything it’s that this hasn’t changed.   
  
“We’ve worked together before. All we need to do is do that again. There’s no reason we have to make it anything more than it needs to be. We see each other when we’re working, and that’s it. I can be civil for that, and you’ve always been the better behaved of the two of us, so I figure you can too.”   
  
When Ale speaks again, he sounds utterly drained, like tonight has taken everything he had and then some. “Alright, Joshua. If this is what you think is best, we’ll do it your way.”   
  
Faraday snorts. “I don’t have a clue what’s best in a situation like this. Who the fuck would?”   
  
Ale gives him a tired smile and drains the remnants of his drink in a single gulp. “At least we’re both lost then. I guess that’s something.”   
  
It’ll have to be, Faraday figures. It’s not like they have anything else at this point.   
  
*****   
  
Once he’s finally free of the investor’s party Vasquez immediately heads for his hotel. If he goes anywhere else tonight he’s going to risk winding up in a bad state, and the last thing he needs with that is to land on the morning news, hungover or worse.   
  
He closes the door to his room behind him with a heavy sigh, letting his head fall back against it as he pictures yet again the look on Joshua’s face as he’d uttered the words ‘we’ve each worked with people we didn’t like before now’. He supposes that’s a step up from Joshua publically telling the entire world he hates him and would be perfectly happy to see him rot in New York, but it’s not by much.   
  
Almost against his will he pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks to see if he has any messages. Unsurprisingly, there are a number of texts from his sisters - he very pointedly only skims through these, and doesn't open Francesca's at all - as well as one from Sam sent just after he'd hung up on the man when Joshua had found him outside.   
  
_Let me know how it goes, and call me if you need to._

  
Thinking not for the first time that his agent babies him far more than most, Vasquez can't help but feel touched at the sentiment. Leni would have been much more perfunctory if she was still working with him, and Bart ... he pictures the man's sneering face and shudders.   
  
Suddenly talking with Sam looks like a potential relief in the form of a distraction.   


Except Sam's not likely to still be awake at this point, he realizes. It's a little after 1:30am in LA, meaning it's 4:30 in the morning in New York. Vasquez knows he may not be the best client there is for a number of reasons, but a habit of getting his agent out of bed at absurd hours to whine about his broken heart isn't one of them. He decides a quick text is probably safe, and then he'll go to bed.  
  
_It went_ . He finally settles on, wishing he can think of anything better. _I'll talk to you in the morning._

 _  
_ He's managed to get his suit jacket hung up in the closet, and is in the process of undoing the buttons on his dress shirt when his phone starts buzzing. Surprised to say the least, he wanders out of the bathroom where he's been undressing so he can grab the thing off the suite's coffee table. His eyebrows rise when he sees Sam's number blinking up at him.   
  
"You should be in bed, amigo," he says as he brings the phone to his ear. "Men your age need more rest than most."   
  
Sam's answering snort is as derisive as they come. "If that were true I'd've failed out of this business long ago, especially working with the likes of you. What the hell does 'it went' mean?"   
  
"It means time passed, and I worked while it did." Wedging the phone between his chin and shoulder, Vasquez heads back into the bathroom to return to getting ready for bed. "Why? Were you afraid I'd suffer a breakdown in between now and when we last spoke?"   
  
Sam's answering silence pretty much says it all, but instead of being offended, Vasquez just rolls his eyes and feels oddly fond. "Gracias, Sam, your faith in me is, as ever, always appreciated."   
  
"It's not a question of faith, boy," Sam grunts. "I know you're okay to handle this situation, I wouldn't have nudged you into it if I didn't. The issue is whether or not you know it."   
  
The words make Vasquez pause where he's still undoing the buttons of his shirt. He stares at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror pondering what the best answer might be. He sighs. "I'm here, aren't I?"   
  
"Yeah, you are," Sam agrees, "but while you sound alright now, you sounded like absolute shit earlier. You want to tell me why that was?"   
  
_And your family? All those little sisters of yours must be grown up by now._

  
Vasquez's eyes snap shut as the words echo around in his brain, and both his hands involuntarily clench into fists. "It was nothing," he lies, voice thick. "Just me being oversensitive about something."   
  
Sam makes an aggrieved noise. "Kid, what's the one rule I gave you when we started working together?"   
  
"That I don't have to give you the specifics of everything that goes down, but I need to be honest with you if you're going to have to do damage control." Vasquez repeats Sam's personal mantra with ease. "Have I ever broken said rule?"   
  
"No," Sam says gruffly, almost as if he's annoyed at Vasquez for doing what he's told, "but that doesn't mean you might not. I know I'm asking a lot of you having you do this."   
  
"Technically, you didn't ask," Vasquez points out. "Emma did, or demanded rather. You just went along with it, and I am too."   
  
Sam goes quiet in the way he only does when he's gearing up to say something deathly serious. "Kid, Ale, I want you to be very clear on one thing. This movie could be a huge boost for your career if you stick with it, and it could tank it completely if you don't. Having said that, I want you to know, I will not hesitate to get you out of it if you need me to. To hell with the financial repercussions or any repercussions, really. If you want out, I can and will make it happen. End of story."   
  
"Careful, old man," Vasquez says weakly after longer time than reasonable has passed. "Talk like that might make me think you care."   
  
"Repeat such lies and I'll have you both killed and fired," Sam says primly. "I have never felt affection for anything other than a job well done and the occasional beer. You know full well I'm only saying this because I'm scared of your mother."   
  
Vasquez laughs. "As excuses go, that one's not bad."   
  
"Who says it's an excuse?" Sam grumps. "I'm not feeling that woman's wrath if I can avoid it. She'd skin me alive."   
  
"No doubt," Vasquez agrees. Finally free of his dress shirt, he drapes it over the back of the door so he can begin figuring out how to remove his undershirt without losing his phone. In the end, he simply says to hell with it and starts tugging it off.

  
"As much as I appreciate your concern," he says, voice muffled by fabric, "I have to do this. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it."   
  
"Good," Sam tells him, "but remember what I said. You don't even have to tell me why, but if you need me to get you away from this, you be honest and we'll get it done."   
  
"Promise me, Alejandro," he adds when Vasquez doesn't say anything.   
  
_And your mother? How's she?_

  
Swallowing convulsively, Vasquez does his best to banish the words and the voice accompanying them from his mind. "I promise," he says tightly. "Now go to bed, old man. It's past your bedtime."   
  
*****   
  
Somewhat surprisingly given the situation, Faraday finds that, once they enter into production, the days start to blur together and become much easier to handle.   
  
“That just means you’re adapting,” Red says when he mentions it one morning when they’re out for a run together. He pauses where he’s casually going through a series of stretches while they wait for a gaggle of middle aged women all in matching yoga pants and carrying identical fluorescent blue mats to shuffle past them. “I don’t see why you didn’t expect to; you always have in the past.”   
  
“Meaning what?” Faraday asks. Unlike Red he’s not stretching, although he probably should. He’s too busy getting caught up in his own thoughts.   
  
“Meaning you adapted when he left, you adapted when he was gone, and now you’re adapting while he’s back.” Red shrugs when Faraday levels him with a glare. “You can make that face all you want; it won’t make me any less right.”   
  
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Faraday mutters. The group of women have finally crossed the jogging trail he and Red prefer to frequent, leaving a wide open path for them to start moving again.   
  
“This was not supposed to be this easy. It was supposed to be emotionally fraught and dramatic and and I don’t know! Like something out of those harlequin bodice rippers Emma’s always trying to convince us she doesn’t actually read.”   
  
“Okay, first of all,” Red says slowly, “I believe her when she says those aren’t hers. I think they’re Matthew’s. Second of all, if this was a romance novel you two would’ve dramatically fallen into each other’s arms by now and made up. Unfortunately, it’s real life, and you’re just a pair of ex-boyfriends who have to be civil while you’re stuck working together. Honestly, you should be proud of how maturely you’ve handled things. Three years ago, you’d probably have already called me at two in the morning to drunkenly cry about how you don’t know what you did wrong.”   
  
“I don’t know what I did wrong! He’s never fuckin’ told me!” Faraday says explosively, and Red’s expression softens.   
  
“I know,” he admits, “but sometimes that’s also how real life goes. We don’t always get the things, or in this case the answers that we want.”   
  
“Oh spare me,” Faraday groans. He sets off down the trail at a steady pace, hoping the movement will make Red – who normally is nowhere near this chatty, it’s one of the things Faraday likes best about him – stop talking at least for a little while.   
  
It’s a pity then that Faraday’s luck has been such absolute shit as of late. In keeping with the way things have been going, Red most assuredly does not stop talking. If anything he gets even more engaged.   
  
“I’m just saying,” he remarks as they crest up a hill. “You’ve built this project up into being this huge thing in your head all because Vasquez is taking part in it, but right now he’s just another colleague. Yeah, he’s one you’ve got a history with, but contrary to what you like to pretend – not to mention what Bart likes to flat out say – you’re a professional and you can handle things like this.”   
  
Faraday, who unlike Red has neither the stamina nor the lung capacity to maintain a coherent conversation when he’s pounding along down a trail way, has to fight back a sudden urge to groan. These days Red’s probably the closest thing he has to a best friend, and tragically the man seems to think this is a decent reason to keep up a running commentary (quite literally) on Faraday’s personal life.   
  
“Bart thinks I’m insane doing this,” he mutters in between panting breaths when they slow down a little. “He, fuck, honestly, I hate how he talks about Ale sometimes. He really is not happy about my working with him again.”   
  
“It’s Bart’s job to worry about you,” Red points out reasonably. Faraday wants to know how he manages to look like he hasn’t even broken a sweat when they’ve been out here for the better part of an hour. “Though sometimes I think he could stand to have a little more faith in you. Often it’s like he needs to personally steer you in the direction of every project you’re involved with.”   
  
“Yeah, well,” Faraday shrugs. “He had to pick up the pieces when Ale took off. At least he was willing to do so. Which is not to say that you didn’t help,” he adds almost apologetically, “it’s just that you weren’t around in the first days.”   
  
He and Red hadn’t met until a couple months after the break up, when Bart had convinced Faraday that he needed to clean up his lifestyle some before things got to out of hand. It had actually been Emma who’d found the younger man, and while Faraday hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic about the notion of a personal trainer commenting on his life choices at the time, an unexpected friendship had blossomed between the two of them.   
  
Red eyes him for a long moment, and then shrugs. “You’re better now,” he says, as if daring anyone to disagree with him.   
  
Faraday doesn’t take the bait. “I am,” he says, “and the two of us are making it work. Possibly a little too well if the fact that Emma’s planning to arrange some joint interviews is anything to go by.”   
  
“That was bound to happen,” Red says. “In fact, I’m almost surprised it hasn’t already. When’s the first one?”   
  
“Within the next couple weeks,” Faraday replies. “She’s still working on getting them lined up, but once that’s done ...” he makes a sweeping gesture with his hands. “It’s off to the races.”   
  
“I see.” Red makes a thoughtful humming noise before shrugging some more. “Well you’re obviously used to interviews, and Vasquez has done them before. Hopefully everything goes fine.”   
  
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” Faraday says, “but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”   
  
*****   
  
"But why does it have to be McCann? I hate McCann. You _know_ I hate McCann! He's a bastard, a rude, invasive bastard. And he works for Blackstone now! I don’t exactly have the best track record with them, so there’s that too!”   
  
From where he's sitting in the waiting room, Vasquez sees it as Emma pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a tired sigh before looking up to meet Joshua's angry glare. "I know you hate McCann," she agrees, cutting him off before he can voice any more protests and effectively taking the wind out of his sails. "I also hate McCann, and don't blame you for it one bit. Unfortunately, that doesn't change the fact that he's who the company has sent over, and we've already agreed to this interview."   
  
"Did you know it was him coming when we did that?" Joshua demands. He's getting more and more riled up by the minute, and Vasquez cannot for the life of him understand why. It's not like they haven't both been interviewed by unpleasant people in the past.   
  
"Of course I didn't know!" Emma snaps, looking offended. "How stupid do you think I am? I wouldn't have booked it if I'd so much as thought they were going to send him. I know how good he is at getting under your skin, and, to be perfectly honest, I'm not much looking forward to the inevitable damage control I'm going to have to do after you've been in there with him. After you've both been in there with him."   
  
"Well, at least you see what the problem is." Joshua snaps. He gestures furiously with one hand, waving it back and forth between himself and Vasquez. "That bastard is going to have a ball with this. He won't be like the others, oh no, not a chance. It’s not going to be questions about what it's like to work together again, and you know it. If we're lucky, very lucky, the worst thing he'll do is talk about how the reason we broke up has always stayed a secret, and try to get it out of us. Me though, I reckon he'll start from there and get worse."   
  
Vasquez grimaces at these words. He doesn't know this McCann person, has never dealt with him until today, but if he's going to be half as invasive as Joshua's predicting this is going to be a nightmare.   
  
He clears his throat, softly at first and then a little louder when the sound fails to get their attention. "Maybe we should split up the interview," he suggests once both their eyes land on him. "If he's really as bad as you say, why not divide the time, and have him do us both separately."   
  
"Not a chance," Joshua says, surprising Vasquez with his vehemence. "We can't let him get you by yourself, he'll have a field day."   
  
Vasquez is about to ask what the hell that means, when Emma starts nodding her head in agreement. "Joshua's right. I'd honestly try and cancel it outright if I had enough time, but as it is I'm not having either of you go in alone with him. He'll have Joshua start throwing punches, and Ale, lord knows what he'll do to you."   
  
"He's going to see him as fresh meat," Joshua growls, crossing his arms over his chest and looking furious. "Though for the record, I've never so much as taken a swing at the fucker. I've just thought about it real hard."   
  
"Well, I'd appreciate it if today wouldn't be the day you gave in to the urge." Emma tells him.   
  
"I make no promises," Joshua replies, and Vasquez knows him well enough to tell it isn't a joke.   
  
Clearly, Emma does too, at least if the way she lets out a tired sigh is any indication. "Just try."   
  
She leaves the room soon after, and it's like her presence was the only thing keeping Joshua tethered because as soon as she's gone he starts pacing the confines of the room like a caged animal, angry and ready to bite.   
  
Watching him warily from his perch in an armchair, Vasquez wonders what the hell he's supposed to do. "Would it help if I took the lead on this one?" Usually he's the quieter of the two of them in joint interviews, although not by much.   
  
"Absolutely not," Joshua snaps. "Sorry," he adds when Vasquez gives him an unimpressed look. "It's just - ah fuck it." Stopping his pacing, he crosses the room and drops down into the seat next to Vasquez, landing heavily enough to make the whole thing rattle. "You don't know what McCann's like. He goes right for the throat, right for where you're the most vulnerable."   
  
Vasquez frowns. Honestly, he's starting to get a little annoyed by the way neither Joshua nor Emma seem to think he can handle this guy. "I am capable of taking care of myself,you know," he says tightly. "It's not like I've never had an interviewer deliberately ask me something unpleasant."   
  
Joshua flaps a hand at him in response, but surprisingly doesn't take offence at Vasquez's tone. "No, shit. Sorry. That's not what I meant." Startling Vasquez with his second apology in as many minutes, he gives him a tired look. "McCann is more than deliberately unpleasant. He's a fucking bastard who thinks nothing is sacred."   
  
"Meaning?"   
  
"Meaning, when he asks why we broke up, and he will because everyone and their dog still wants to know the answer, he won't let either of us brush it off. He'll keep pushing and he'll get nasty about it. And after that he'll really get personal."   
  
"Wonderful," Vasquez mutters as the full weight of what they're facing sinks in. "Won't this be fun."   
  
"Probably not." Joshua replies grimly.   
  
*****

  
Even if he hadn't already been forewarned, Vasquez suspects he would have disliked McCann on sight. There's a slimy air about the man, one worse than most members of the media he's encountered, that sets his skin prickling from the get go. He feels it the moment they sit down across from him. To make matters worse, Joshua's not even trying to hide his dislike for him, as is evidenced by the way he gives him a curt nod and ignores his proffered handshake.   
  
Rather than look offended, McCann looks pleased, and Vasquez ends up wishing for something to take cover behind. "Joshua," McCann says with a sunny smile that earns him a scowl. "It's been a while, hasn't it? And Alejandro," he adds, turning the same smile on Vasquez, "I don't think we've ever had the pleasure."   
  
"That's not how you say it," Joshua says before Vasquez can reply.   
  
"Hmm?" McCann asks.   
  
"His name," Joshua grits out. "You're saying it wrong."   
  
McCann for some reason looks like he's just won the lottery, and Vasquez has a sudden urge to kick Joshua in the shin. Whatever's going on here, Joshua's playing right into the interviewer's hands, and he's too wound up to see it. "Sorry," McCann says, blatantly insincere. "Could one of you say it for me then?"   
  
Vasquez jumps on the opening because it's as good a way as any to keep Joshua quiet. He repeats his name a couple of times, slowly enough that anyone should be able to get it down, and has to fight to keep his annoyance from showing when McCann's sole response is, "Well, I can see why people call you by your last name. That's impossible. Have you ever thought about anglicizing it?"   
  
"It's his name," Joshua growls. "Why should he change it? It ain't hard to say."   
  
"Ain't?" McCann repeats. "Your country boy is showing there, Josh. That's not like you."   
  
"He doesn't go by Josh," someone says, and Vasquez belatedly realizes it was him. Joshua gives him a startled look, while McCann looks delighted.   
  
He leans back in his seat, eyeing them both critically. "My my, for a pair that've been separated for years, you two are awfully protective of each other."   
  
"We're friends," Vasquez lies, trying to head this line of questioning off at the pass. "Friends have each other's backs."   
  
"Really?" McCann asks, and Vasquez thinks he may have gone a step too far with that last line. "Because rumour has it you two haven't spoken since the breakup - what was it, three years ago? Four?”   
  
"Rumour's rumour," Vasquez replies with a tight smile.   
  
"And that's a classic example of an answer that doesn't tell me anything at all," McCann shoots back. He gives them both a wide eyed look that Vasquez doesn't trust for a second. "Come on, boys, work with me here. You must know how badly the world wants to know what happened with you two. I mean, you've got one of the biggest stars in the world," here he nods at Joshua, "reuniting with the ex who everyone knows did a number on him. It makes for a hell of a story."   
  
"No, it doesn't." Vasquez says flatly. "We're here to talk about the present, not the past."   
  
McCann gives him a nod, acknowledging a point well landed, and then comes barrelling right back. "Okay, we can talk about the present. Josh, what's it like working with the guy who all but left you at the altar?"   
  
"We were never engaged," Joshua growls.   
  
As deflections go it's not bad, but it's not enough to fend off McCann. “Semantics," he says with a shrug. "You two were well on your way to being a pair of old school Hollywood sweethearts, and Josh, buddy, everybody knows you didn't take him leaving you well."   
  
Joshua makes a noise that will hopefully be low enough for the mics not to pick up, and Vasquez comes to the conclusion that they're going to have to change the topic lest he kill someone.   
  
“Joshua's a professional," he cuts in, hoping to draw McCann's attention by putting himself in the line of fire. "We both are, which means we can handle working together. That is what professionals do." _Unlike you_ , his tone hints, making it clear without saying so what he thinks of McCann's behaviour.   
  
If he catches the unspoken subtext, McCann doesn't let it show, choosing instead to let his gaze switch over to rest on Vasquez. "It's got to be hard, though, right?" He practically purrs. "There's so much history there, after all, and you took such, dare I say it, wildly different career paths after the split."   
  
"I don't really think there was a question in there, amigo," Vasquez says easily, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other in a studied pose on nonchalance. He knows where this is going now, has seen it before. It's a pity for McCann that he's never let it get to him.   
  
"Well, I mean, doesn't it bother you that your career took such a hit once you were on your own again?"   
  
Out of the corner of his eyes, Vasquez sees Joshua stiffen, and he wishes he dared reach out with a calming hand to let him know everything's okay. Reclining even further back in his seat, he matches McCann smirk for smirk. "You may as well just spit it out, cabron. What's that charming phrase? Call a spade a spade and say what you mean."   
  
For the briefest of moments McCann looks taken aback, almost like he wasn't expecting Vasquez to meet him head on like this, but then he shrugs and flashes another of his unpleasant grins. "Alright. Doesn't it bother you that you couldn't amount to anything without him? That you've had to come back to him to get recognition again?"   
  
Well, he's never heard it put quite so bluntly, but that's about the gist of what he was expecting. Luckily, he's answered variations of this question so many times over the years, it's no problem at all for him to say he's happy for the way Joshua's career has gone and is perfectly content with the state of his own. He's not even lying when he says it, or, rather, he wouldn't be if he were able to get the words out.   
  
The reason being - what actually happens is he has to grab Joshua mid-lunge to prevent him from getting his hands around McCann's throat. Hauling the other man back with him - no small feat considering Joshua's the heavier of the two of them - he gets to his feet and starts for the exit.   
  
“I didn't realize we were cutting things short, boys," McCann says, and there is no mistaking the absolute glee in his voice. This is a man who's gotten exactly the reaction he was hoping for, damn Joshua for being hotheaded enough to give it to him.   
  
Breathing heavily through his nose, Vasquez forces Joshua's still struggling form ahead of him, and says as calmly as he can, "Would you rather I let him go?" Beside him Joshua spits a few phrases that do nothing to help matters, except for how McCann pales as he clues in to the fact that he's legitimately in physical danger if Joshua gets loose.   
  
Using the momentary silence to his advantage, Vasquez gives McCann a sharp nod, and pushes Joshua out of the room. He hustles him down the hallway, not stopping until they've reached the waiting room they'd been stuck in earlier. Taking a quick peek to make sure there's no one there, he shoves Joshua inside and quickly follows after him.   
  
"Have you lost your mind?" He demands as soon as the heavy door has slammed shut behind them. He prays like hell no one else with recording equipment is nearby. "Joshua, you idiot, that video's going to be viral in minutes!"   
  
"I don't fucking care!" Joshua snaps, raking a hand through his hair until it stands furiously on end. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that! Nobody gets to talk to you like that!"   
  
Startled, Vasquez takes a step back, needing to put some distance between himself and where Joshua is standing in the middle of the room with his sides heaving and his face twisted in fury. "People have said worse about me." He says calmly. _People like you_ , he doesn't add aloud.   
  
"And I'm just supposed to be okay with that?" Joshua demands incredulously, looking at Vasquez like he's lost his mind. "I have never been able to sit by and watch people I care about be insulted. You know that!"   
  
"Yes, but you don't care about me." Vasquez reminds him. "So it should not have been a problem."   
  
Joshua freezes like a deer in the headlights, letting out a choking noise that does nothing to lessen Vasquez's confusion over this whole mess. "Wow," he says finally. "Okay, wow. And I thought - no, never mind what I thought."   
  
He pastes a bland expression on his face, one that has always made Vasquez want to kick him because it's such an obvious attempt to cover up what he's feeling, and reaches up to smooth his hair back into some semblance of order. "I should go. Bart and Emma both deserve a heads up about the shitstorm that's coming their way, and it may as well come from me since it's my fault. I'll see you later."   
  
Then he's up and out of the room without another word.   
  
*****   
  
Vasquez had been expecting Emma to come deal with them once the disaster that was the McCann interview came out. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that she sends Teddy in her stead.   
  
“She says you two are to work your shit out, and you’re to work it out now,” the younger man says. He’s planted between Vasquez and Joshua, clutching a clipboard like a lifeline, but standing firm regardless.   
  
“We don’t have shit to work out,” Joshua protests, and it’s likely a testament to how good an actor he is that he sounds like he means it. “We’ve been getting along fine. It’s McCann I’ve got issues with.”   
  
“Emma does not agree,” Teddy says flatly. “Her position is that you fucked up in front of McCann because you two are fucked up over each other, and she’s insisting you deal with it.”   
  
“How?” Vasquez asks, wanting to cut Joshua off before he starts another fight, this one with their employer/friend’s second in command.   
  
Teddy gives him a bright grin. “I’m so glad you asked,” he declares. “She wants you to run lines together.”   
  
Vasquez blinks. “That makes no sense,” he says flatly. “We’re already running lines together. We do it almost every day.”   
  
“On set,” Teddy agrees with a nod. “Where there are other people around to act as buffers. Emma wants you to do it alone, so you can figure out how to act like normal people when left unattended with reporters.”   
  
“We were normal,” Joshua protests, and Vasquez honestly can’t blame Teddy for having the nerve to roll his eyes in response.   
  
“You tried to throttle McCann,” the assistant points out, waving his clipboard for emphasis. “And Vasquez called him a bastard on camera before that, never mind that he didn’t do it in English. We can’t have an entire press tour of that.”   
  
“So you want us to run lines together,” Joshua snorts and flings his hands into the air. “Alright, you know what? Fine, we’ll do it. Tonight even. Now go away and let us hash out the details. I still feel like punching something, so don’t make yourself a target.”   
  
He turns to Vasquez as Teddy flees. “I know you probably don’t want to do this, but I’d rather do what we can to get Emma off our backs. How’s my place at eight sound?”   
  
It’s a testament to how off his game Vasquez is that he agrees to this before he can think better of it. “Okay,” he says weakly, trying not to think about how bad an idea it is for them to be alone in the confines of Joshua’s home. “What’s the address?”   
  
Joshua stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “If you’ve forgotten that much,” he says slowly, “then you’ve repressed even more than I’d thought.” When all Vasquez can do is frown at him, understanding not quite having sunk in yet, he clarifies. “I never moved. The code’s the same and everything.”   
  
Vasquez gapes at him, still not saying anything, and Joshua shifts uncomfortably. “What?” He mumbles, no longer meeting Vasquez’s gaze. “I didn’t want to deal with the hassle, okay? And you signed everything over to me anyway, so I could do what I wanted with it.”   
  
“I … of course you could,” Vasquez says once he’s found his voice. “I – I just assumed you’d sold it.”   
  
Joshua shrugs in response, and Vasquez waits a few beats to see if he’ll say anything else. However, it looks like that’s the end of the conversation. “Right,” he says then. “I suppose I’ll see you later tonight. Should I bring anything?”   
  
“It’s fine,” Joshua says, still not looking at him.   
  
Vasquez makes what he hopes is an agreeing noise, nods once even though Joshua can’t see him, and flees.   
  
*****   
  
“Did you know?” He finds himself barking into the phone less than an hour before he’s due to go meet Joshua. He’s been trying not to read anything into what the other man had told him earlier to no avail. His thought process over the past few hours has consisted almost entirely of him considering what if anything it’s supposed to mean that Joshua never got rid of the home they’d made for each other.   
  
There’s a slight pause, and then Emma asks warily, “Did I know what?”   
  
“Did you know that Joshua is still living in our house?” He demands, and if he comes off a little hysterical, well, then he comes off a little hysterical. Under the circumstances, he figures he’s justified.   
  
Emma’s quiet for a second or two. Finally, she says, “Joshua’s not in your house.”   
  
Vasquez lets out a hitching noise of frustration. He is getting exceedingly close to the end of his rope tonight, and if someone doesn’t tell him the truth soon he’s not going to be held responsible for his actions. “He told me he was!”   
  
“Nope,” Emma replies, popping the ‘p’ in the word slightly. “Joshua is living in his house. The fact that it was once your house – your here referring to the pair of you – was negated when you had a lawyer mail him a bunch of paperwork to get your name off the deed. Which,” she adds icily, “let me tell you what a fun day that was, Alejandro. There was a lot of drinking, some manly not-crying, and at one point he nearly put his fist through the living room wall.”   
  
“Emma, you are being deliberately obtuse,” Vasquez growls into the phone, trying and failing to ignore the tight spiral of guilt that pools in his gut at her words. “I am not interested in the semantics of who owns what. Joshua is still living in the house that we bought together, when I thought he’d sold it years ago, and you never bothered to tell me this!”   
  
“Are you saying you would have listened if I had?” She demands. Her voice is going tight in the way it does when she’s truly angry with someone. He’s heard if before, but not often directed at him. “Because of course I knew he was still living in the house, I’m the one who’s been here the whole time, remember? I’m the one who’s had to watch him fall apart after what you did to him and then struggle to pick up the pieces and put them back together.”   
  
She doesn’t say anything for long enough that he almost thinks the call has dropped. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she continues on. “Look, I am not here to tell you how to live your life, and I would certainly never tell anyone that they had to stay in a relationship with someone when they didn’t want to. But,” and here her tone goes harsh, maybe more harsh than he’s ever heard it, “how you went about this was wrong. You hurt him, Alejandro. You hurt him so bad I don’t have the words to describe how miserable he was, and I hope you don’t want me to tell you I’m sorry that you’re finally realizing that because I’m not.”   
  
“Emma, you don’t understand,” he starts wretchedly.   
  
“No,” she agrees. “I don’t. I can’t. Not when your reason for leaving is the one thing you’ve managed to keep buried after all this time.”   
  
She sighs then, sounding more tired than he’s ever heard her. “Alejandro, I didn’t convince you to come out here to rehash old pain. Honest, I didn’t. I did it because you and Joshua both made me a promise years ago, and I still think you can both manage to put aside your differences long enough to get it done. Do you think you can do it?”   
  
“I … yes,” he says. After all, he’d made her a promise, and he’s broken enough of those in his lifetime that doing so again is probably not a good idea – not if karma’s as real as some people say it is, anyway.   
  
“Good,” Emma says. He hears her huff out a breath, and thinks not for the first time that she’s a better friend than he deserves. Few other people would be as willing to forgive as she is. “Then go meet Joshua like you promised and see if you two can figure out how to work together again. You were doing fine until recently, so it’s not impossible.”   
  
Vasquez laughs at that because he can’t not. If Emma thinks he’s doing fine she may not know him as well as he thinks after all.   
  
The laughter, such as it was given the harsh and brittle quality of it, doesn’t take long to peter out. Once it goes, all he feels in its wake is tired, and it’s a pity for him that he’s just doubly committed himself to going to see Joshua tonight.

  
He thinks, as he murmurs a quick goodbye to Emma and thumbs off his phone, that he’s going to be in need a stiff drink by the time the night is out.   
  
*****   
  
Calling the place they'd bought together a house is technically something of a misnomer, what it actually is is a three bedroom condominium that they'd chosen as a compromise between Joshua's desire to have a place that was entirely their own and Vasquez's insistence that a house would be a waste of both space and money.   
  
"We don't need a house," he'd protested repeatedly, "even ignoring the cost we'll just wind up rattling around on opposite ends of it unable to find each other."   
  
Joshua had given him a long look at this and then broken out into a hooting laugh, eyes crinkling as he'd finally caved. "Fine," he'd said, still giggling. "I certainly wouldn't want to buy a place I'd lose you in, sweetheart."   
  
Even after the condo decision was made, he'd still insisted on a place bigger than Vasquez had thought they'd needed, weaseling his way into victory by saying they should have somewhere to put family who came to visit. "I mean, we'd have to buy two or three to fit all your sisters in in one go, but at least this way we can have a couple of them stay at the same time, and your Ma too."   
  
Vasquez remembered the warm feeling he gotten in his chest from Joshua thinking to take Mama and the girls into consideration like that, and wishes for the thousandth time this evening that he'd agreed to meet anywhere else. It's bad enough that the security code for the lobby doors - a nod to their anniversary date - was still the same; he doesn't know what he's going to do once he's inside the unit itself.   
  
Steeling himself outside the door, he takes a deep breath and then raps his knuckles lightly on the front door. When there's no indication from the inside that anyone has heard him, he does again, a little heavier than before. This time he gets a response as Joshua's muffled "It's open" reaches his ears. Not wanting to waste time lest he continue to overthink things and wind up standing in the hallway all night, he grabs the door handle and turns it, pushing the door open in one fluid push.   
  
It swings back easily he notes, which is different. When they'd first moved in it'd had a tendency to jam, something about one of the hinges not being installed quite right. Joshua had always made noises about fixing it, and now it appears that he's done so.   
  
That's not the only thing that's changed Vasquez notes as he steps inside. He'd taken some of his own things when he'd left, things that obviously Joshua would need to replace, but it looked like once he'd started doing that he'd just kept going. Most if not all of the furniture is different, the only familiar sight that immediately jumps out at him being Joshua's ridiculous record collection still taking up the better part of one wall across from the bay windows.   
  
Joshua's standing in the middle of the open concept dining room/living room when he comes in, looking like he has no idea what to do with himself. "Hi," he says finally, fidgeting with them hem of the worn in t-shirt he's wearing.   
  
"Hi," Vasquez says back, coming to a halt as he reaches the end of the entry way. He wishes he knew what to do next.   
  
"You, uh, you don't have to worry about kicking your shoes off if you don't want," Joshua says lamely. "I wander around in mine all the time and the floors are scratched to hell anyway. I need to get around to replacing them."   
  
The floors don't look overly torn up from what Vasquez can see, but he's not about to tell Joshua what he can and cannot do with his home. He shrugs for lack of anything better to say.   
  
"Right," Joshua says, and for some reason his face flushes. He rakes a hand through his hair agitatedly, and Vasquez wishes this whole situation wasn't so damned awkward for both of them. "Can I get you anything? Water? Beer? Something else?"   
  
"Water would be great," Vasquez tells him. He'd dearly love to accept something stronger, probably will go get himself just that once the night is through, but the last thing he needs while in Joshua's presence is anything that might inhibit his brain to mouth filter. He's come too close too many times already to letting slip things he shouldn't.   
  
Joshua nods at him and disappears in the direction of the kitchen, telling Vasquez to have a seat as he goes. He doesn't, choosing to stand for now instead, and let's his eyes room around the room, noting the various changes as he goes.   
  
The coffee table is still the same one that they'd bought upon moving in here, it being the first nice piece of furniture they'd been able to afford, but the couch is different - newer and bigger - and they'd never even had a dining room set when they'd lived together, let alone one as elaborate as can be found here now.   
  
He's staring at another obvious new addition when Joshua re-emerges from the kitchen with a glass of water in each hand. "What," he asks as he accepts the drink Joshua offers him, "is that?"   
  
Following his gaze, Joshua flashes a small smile. "I'd've thought that was obvious - it's a dog bed."   
  
Vasquez continues staring at the object in question, something strange stirring in the pit of his stomach. "I can see that," he says slowly, because he can, his eyesight work's fine, after all. He turns and looks Joshua in the eye for the first time since his arrival. "You don't like dogs."   
  
Instead of bristling at the suggestion that Vasquez knows anything about him, Joshua just smiles wider. "I like Teeny," he says, and Vasquez boggles at the ridiculous name he's apparently given to his supposed dog. "You wanna meet her?"   
  
Before Vasquez can make a decision one way or the other, he brings the fingers of his free hand to his lips and whistles shrilly. There's a snuffling sound from somewhere in the main bedroom, followed by a sudden thump, as if something heavy has just landed on the floor. Joshua rolls his eyes, the action belied by the fond expression on his face. "Damned mutt knows she's not allowed on the bed, but does she listen to me? You bet your ass she doesn't."   
  
Vasquez tries to come up with a response, but whatever he's about to say gets cut off as the largest dog he's ever laid eyes on lumbers into the room. He gives Joshua a look. "Teeny." He says flatly.   
  
Joshua raises his hands to protest his innocence, but the laugh lurking around the corners of his mouth does nothing for him. "I had no part in naming her, okay? Her full name is Constantina, I fucking shit you not, and even she was too small a puppy to carry a title like that."   
  
"So you went with ... Teeny."   
  
Joshua's grin gets wider. "It's ironic."

  
"It's patently untrue is what it is," Vasquez tells him, turning back to the dog to get a better look at her. "What breed is she?"   
  
"English Bullmastiff," Joshua replies promptly. "Emma said I needed a dog almost as big as me."   
  
"Well," Vasquez says slowly, eyeing the dog from his current vantage point. "You succeeded."   
  
"Oh, I didn't pick her," Joshua says. He snaps his fingers and the dog lets out a happy grunting sound as she comes right to him. Joshua sets his untouched glass down on a convenient shelf, and crouches down to ruffles her ears. "Emma gave her to me. Brought her over one day about, I dunno, a little over two years ago, I guess. She said she figured we'd get along well. And she was right, wasn't she girlie? Yeah, wasn't she?"   
  
Teeny snuffles happily as Joshua keeps cooing at her, going to far as to lick her broad tongue over his face at one point. "Ugh, gross. Fucking slobber machine." Joshua wrinkles his nose in distaste as he wipes at his cheek with one sleeve, but he doesn't move out of the dog's reach so Vasquez figures he's not really bothered.   
  
"She's lovely," he says, and he means it. He's always liked dogs, to the point that he'd tried on multiple occasions to get Joshua to agree to getting one, though he'd personally never had any luck. Maybe he should have just brought one home without asking.   
  
"Yes, she is," Joshua agrees, continuing to make kissy faces at the dog.   
  
Vasquez pushes away all thoughts of what might have been - he's taken enough trips down similar paths to know they only end in regret. "We should get to work," he says quietly.   
  
Joshua, thankfully, doesn't seem bothered by his suggestion. He gives Teeny a final pat and climbs to his feet, shoving at her a bit with his leg when she tries to protest his departure. "Uh uh, girlie, tonight's a working night, so I can't play with you right now."   
  
Teeny makes a disgruntled noise and Vasquez can't quite hold back a laugh. "On a scale of one to ten," he asks, still chuckling as Joshua tries unsuccessfully to remove himself from her path, "how spoiled is this dog?"   
  
"Uhh." Joshua says. He glances back and forth between Vasquez and Teeny a few times, and then admits a little sheepishly, "About 742."   
  
Vasquez snorts. "That's what I thought."   
"Whatever," Joshua grumbles. "Just be careful where you decide to sit. She likes to try and make friends by climbing on people so they can't get away."   
  
Given the size of the dog, Vasquez plants himself in one of the dining room chairs as a matter of self-preservation. For her part, however, Teeny seems more interested in keeping Joshua's attention as she climbs up on the couch where he plants himself and settles down with her head pillowed in his lap.   
  
Joshua barely seems to notice, his only response being to scratch absently at her ears with one hand as he pages through the script he's holding with the other with a fond smile on his face.   
  
“Do you have a scene you prefer?” Vasquez asks once they’re both in place.   
  
“May as well go with tomorrows,” Joshua replies with an easy shrug. “It’ll have the added benefit of making sure we’re ready for it.”   
  
“Right,” Vasquez agrees. He leans back in his chair, hooking one arm over the top of it as he rests his own open script in his lap, turning to the correct page. “I think that means you’re up first.”   
  
It’s amazing, Vasquez thinks idly while Joshua’s voice deepens below its usual register as he starts reading the lines aloud, how easy it is to pretend they’re three years in the past, back before all the hurt and betrayal and confusion.   
  
In those days they’d done this all the time, in this very room, it hadn’t even mattered if it was for a project they were both involved in. They’d passed countless evenings just like this, the only difference now being the fact that the likelihood of their falling into bed together afterwards is non-existent.   
  
“Vasquez.”   
  
The sound of his name jerks Vasquez out of his reverie, and he looks up to find Joshua staring at him with the beginnings of a frown on his face. “I’m sorry, what?”   
  
Joshua’s frown goes from tentative to full blown, and he huffs out a sigh. “You’ve missed your cue like three times now, man. Is there something wrong with my delivery, or have you just got your head somewhere else tonight?”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Vasquez says again, contrite. “Maybe I am a little distracted. Try it again?”   
  
Joshua sighs but dutifully recites the line again, keeping his eyes locked with Vasquez’s as he does so.   
  
It doesn’t help, the response he’s supposed to make flies right out of Vasquez’s head, and he finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation at his own behaviour. “Lo siento,” he says, as if apologizing in a different language will make things any better, “apparently I’m not as on the ball tonight as I’d thought.”   
  
Joshua’s face twitches, and he opens his mouth to say something before closing it with an abrupt snap. Wearing a suddenly mutinous expression, he rocks back against the couch, no small feat considering the fact that his giant excuse for a dog is still resting her head in his lap, and sags into the cushions.   
  
“What is it?” Vasquez asks when he sees this. He’s got a feeling he’ll regret asking, but it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before. “Just say what you want to say, Joshua. I know what you look like when you’re bottling things up.”   
  
“It’s – no. I shouldn’t.” Joshua flaps a hand in the air as if to dispel the urge to say whatever it is he’s got percolating in the back of his brain. “We’re on thin enough ice as it is.”   
  
“If you’re sure,” Vasquez says dubiously, and for some reason it’s that of all things that has Joshua’s gaze snapping back to his face.   
  
Eyes narrowing, Joshua sits up straight again, even straighter than before in fact as his new position dislodges Teeny from her spot on top of him. The dog gives him a disgruntled look before curling up in a ball on the other end of the couch, huffing to make her displeasure known.   
  
“Don’t do that,” Joshua snaps, his voice going tight. “Don’t talk at me all accommodating like when we both know you don’t give a shit about humouring me. You want to know what I was about to say?” He adds, switching topics so fast Vasquez has trouble following him. “I want to know how you can look me right in the eye and apologize no problem for flubbing a line, but you won’t even consider doing it for what you did to me.”   
  
Vasquez licks suddenly dry lips upon hearing this. “I didn’t think you would want to hear it,” he says finally, shrugging uncomfortably and palming the back of his neck with one hand when Joshua stares at him incredulously. “You made it clear you didn’t care about the reasons.”   
  
“What.” Joshua says flatly, and it’s not even a question. Instead, it’s simply a statement, like he’s saying it because he thinks it’s what he’s supposed to do, not because he thinks there’s anything worth hearing. “When did I ever do that?”   
  
Vasquez winces. He knows that tone; it’s one of two precursors that usually indicate when Joshua’s fabled Irish temper is about to spring free – the other being when he pulls his lips back and smiles with all his teeth. “You know when you did it,” he says then, gently in an attempt not to fan the inevitable flames any higher. “It’s alright. I – I don’t blame you. It’s not like I deserved any better.”   
  
“I don’t understand – we’re having two different conversations here,” Joshua says now. Leaning forward, he slaps the script he’s been holding for however long down on the coffee table and folds his hands in his lap. “Are you saying you actually are sorry for what you did?”   
  
“Of course I am,” Vasquez blurts out, the words startled from his throat before he can think of whether or not he wants to utter them. “You can’t possibly think – madre de dios, Joshua, yes. I was sorry the moment I did it, and that’s never going to change.”   
  
“I don’t understand,” Joshua repeats. His voice is some conglomeration of hurt, confused, and who knows what else. Vasquez certainly can’t parse it all out. “Why couldn’t you at least say so? Didn’t I deserve that much?”   
  
“Yes, obviously, of course, but hell, Joshua, what does it matter?” Vasquez slumps forward in his seat, exhaustion suddenly settling over his shoulders like a weighted blanket holding him down. “It’s been so long at this point, and you’re good. You’ve got your career, fame, a whole host of friends who love you …”   
  
“Yeah, and I used to have a family,” Joshua says, not quite snide, but close. “Still don’t know what I did to lose it either.”   
  
Vasquez swallows convulsively. “Joshua,” he starts, unsure of what to say but certain he’d better come up with something. “It’s … not what you think.”   
  
“How would you know?” Joshua demands. He’s beginning to look a little wild-eyed, alarmingly so. “How could you possibly know what I think? You never said anything, not a word. I had no idea you were so unhappy, and you never gave me a chance to try and fix it. You just up and left! I had to come home to a goddamned empty house after being away for months, and that was it. You wouldn’t answer my calls, you wouldn’t answer texts, emails; if I’d sent up fucking smoke signals I’m sure you’d have found a way to block those!”   
  
He leans forward, eyes bright and his fingers digging into the meat of his thighs. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to know that you’ve screwed up so badly that the person you love would rather run than tell you there was a problem. I have – so many times I’ve lain awake at night trying to figure out what I could have done to make you so upset, and I still I have no idea. Was it because I was away too much? Was there somebody else? I don’t know, but I want to Ale, I want to know so fucking bad.”   
  
“I do not want to talk about this,” Vasquez says raggedly, which is a lie. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it; it’s just that he can’t look Joshua in the eye, not in the face of the dawning awareness of just how badly he’s fucked everything up.   
  
“You have never wanted to talk about this!” Joshua barks, extending his hands in a sweeping gesture to better illustrate his point. From her perch on the couch, Teeny lets out a high pitched whine, clearly unused to people yelling in her home. “You have ducked and dodged and avoided me for three fucking years, and every last bit of it means I can’t get any damned closure because I have no idea what I did wrong – what I did to make you stop loving me!”   
  
“You didn’t do anything!” Vasquez snaps, shooting to his feet without even realizing it in a sudden need to have room to move. “Nothing, nada, I never stopped loving you – it was you who stopped loving me!”   
  
“I don’t blame you,” he continues on, steamrolling right over Joshua’s confused noise. “In your place I’m sure I’d have felt exactly the same, although I might not have seen fit to tell the whole world I hated you and would much rather you never set foot on my side of the country again, but it’s fine. You have every right to be angry and want nothing to do with me, yet that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”   
  
“All I needed was a month,” he says wretchedly. “One more month and it would have been safe to come back, to explain everything, but then you stopped trying to get in touch with me so I knew it was too late. Bogue must have been thrilled. Total victory for him.”   
  
“Ale,” Joshua cuts in now, standing as well. “I don’t have a damned clue what you’re talking about. What the fuck does Bart have to do with anything between you and me?”   
  
Vasquez laughs then, the sound sharp and brittle, without a single trace of real humor in it. “Joshua, that monster has everything to do with us. If you want to know why I left, make him tell you. He’ll probably do it, I always got the sense he thought it was funny. Besides,” he adds with a tired shrug, “it’s not like you’re going to believe me.”   
  
Joshua lets out a frustrated growl, his temper clearly ratcheting up with each passing second.   
  
If Vasquez were smart – hell, if he were a decent human being – he’d use this moment to finally come clean about everything. He’d tell Joshua exactly what happened, and, if not beg for forgiveness, at least see to it that they’d both be playing with all the facts for the first time in half a decade. Unfortunately, he’s none of those things.   
  
He watches Joshua for a few, heart-wrenching seconds, panic building low in his stomach as the other man visibly gathers his wits about him. Joshua’s throat works, and Vasquez makes a decision. It’s likely not the right one, and it’s definitely not a good one, but it’s the one he makes regardless.   
  
“I have to go,” he says, voice tight. “Talk to Bogue if you want, and then you can come find me.”   
  
As always happens when he’s about to hit the point of apoplectic fury, Joshua’s face goes almost purple. His fair skin tone has long been the bane of his existence when it comes to revealing what he’s feeling, and tonight is no exception. He sputters incomprehensibly at Vasquez’s words and moves forward like he’s going to make a grab to try and stop him.   
  
Whether or not this is really the case, Vasquez isn’t willing to risk it. Thankful he’d never bothered to ditch his boots like Joshua had suggested, he grabs his coat from where it’s sitting on the back of one of the dining room chairs and heads for the entryway, not stopping until he’s cleared the threshold and has snapped the front door shut behind him, thereby putting a physical barrier between himself and Joshua.   
  
It’s not enough. An entire continent hadn’t been enough distance between them, and that was before everything he’s learned in the past however many days, before he’d learned that if he’d just dared to pull his head out of his ass when he’d had the chance, he might have been able to get Joshua back. Sadly, however, it’s the best he can do at the moment.   
  
Breathing raggedly, he lets his head fall back against the closed door, only to abruptly realize that there’s a solid chance Joshua will follow him out here once he gathers his wits about him. Not willing to risk it, Vasquez pushes up off the door and makes a beeline for the elevator.   
  
He can’t avoid Joshua forever, not when they’ve got a damned morning shoot together in a little over twelve hours, but he can at least try and drink himself into oblivion before that happens. With a little luck, he’ll be too hungover tomorrow to care what Joshua says to him.   
  
*****   
  
Faraday has no idea what to do with himself after Ale leaves, so much so that he spends an unknown amount of time sitting like an idiot on his couch, unmoving. It’s only when Teeny whines in a way that indicates she needs to go out that he shakes out of his stupor and stands up. “Okay, girlie,” he says, shuffling over to the spot where he normally keeps her leash and rooting around until he finds it. “Let’s go.”   
  
Her heavy plank of a tail wagging so hard it’s making her entire backside shake, Teeny paws at the front door when he doesn’t open it fast enough for her liking, and then proceeds to physically drag him down the hallway once they’re out. She waits relatively patiently in the elevator – years of exposure having taught her that, unlike Faraday, she can’t make it go faster by whining at it – and then resumes her charge for the outdoors as soon as the metal doors slide open.   
  
“What’s your hurry?” Faraday asks as they clear the lobby doors and step outside into the muggy night air. “It hasn’t been that long since you’ve been out, and it ain’t like you’re the one who had their entire worldview turned upside down tonight, either.”   
  
Because that was the thing of it, wasn’t it? Not only had Ale apologized for leaving the way he had – or at least acknowledged it was unfair, which was frankly more than Faraday had ever expected to get at this point – but he’d said he’d never stopped loving him.   
  
“Which – what the fuck?” Faraday asks the empty night sky. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Why would he leave if that wasn’t it?”   
  
Neither Teeny nor the night sees fit to provide him with an answer, although the former does decide to try and roll in a pile of discarded trash when he’s not paying attention. “Yeah, no,” Faraday grunts, hauling her back just in time, “the last thing I need right now is to have to give you a bath. That never ends well for either of us.”   
  
Apparently unbothered by his thwarting her latest attempt at launching herself into something she shouldn’t, Teeny wuffles happily and continues ambling along none the worse for wear, unlike Faraday who can’t focus on anything no matter how hard he tries.   
  
Part of him thinks he should call Bart. After all, Ale had essentially said he has all the answers, and Faraday’s been turning to him with his problems for years now. On the other hand, he can’t help but picture the look on Ale’s face when he’d talked about Bart, how his expression had been a combination of hatred and something Faraday was almost willing to classify as fear, neither of which are things Ale’s prone to feeling except in the most dire of circumstances.   
  
“What to do you think?” He asks Teeny once they’re on their way back to the apartment. He’s gone in for a longer walk than is probably wise when he’s got a 7:00am call tomorrow, but it’s not like she’s going to rat him out to anyone who might care. “He said to talk to Bart, so I guess that’s what I should do?”   
  
Teeny proves to be as unhelpful as ever when it comes to answering the heavy questions, a fact that’s made all the more obvious when she abandons him in favour of making a beeline to the bedroom as soon as he unclasps her leash. “That’s not nice,” he calls after her. Shockingly, she does not respond.   
  
“Ah hell, maybe you do have the right idea,” he grumbles as he flips the lock on the front door, sliding the chain across for good measure. He kicks his shoes off and walks into the bedroom, noting with little surprise that Teeny’s already claimed her side of the bed she knows she’s not supposed to sleep on. Faraday shakes an admonishing finger at her as he undresses and makes to climb into bed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”   
  
Once he’s safely under the covers – safely in this instance meaning fully beneath them before Teeny decides she wants to roll over and take up even more of his space – Faraday eyes his phone where it’s resting on the bedside table. Unsure of what the right move is, he picks it up and starts scrolling idly through his contacts list. His thumb hovers over Bart’s name for several seconds, only to eventually come down on an entirely different selection.   
  
The phone rings about half a dozen times, and he’s just about expecting it to switch over to voicemail when there’s a click on the other end of the line. “If you’re calling to tell me the two of you have gotten into another fight, so help me god, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”   
  
Feeling abruptly tongue tied, Faraday fails to say anything, and Emma makes a worried noise. “Joshua, what is it?”   
  
“He said he never stopped loving me.”   
  
“Oh boy,” Emma breathes, and Faraday, unable to believe he’s just admitted that out loud, laughs shakily.   
  
“I know. I fucking know, right? Fuck. Emma, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?” In need of a distraction, he rolls over and buries his face in Teeny’s short fur, pathetically grateful that no one’s around to see him like this.   
  
“He said it, though, he did. I didn’t imagine it, or dream it up, or fuckin’ hallucinate it. Those actual words came out of his damn mouth, and then – then he said I stopped loving him! Is the man blind? I always thought he was the smarter of the two of us.”   
  
Emma takes a deep breath, and Faraday can just picture her pinching the bridge of her nose as she prepares to try and talk him out of his agitated state. “Alright, Joshua. Just please try and calm down a little. God, why did you even call me? Wouldn’t you rather babble to Red about this, or maybe Bart?”   
  
Faraday once again hears the venom in Ale’s voice when he’d spat out Bart’s name, and he shakes his head despite the fact that Emma can’t see him. “I can’t call Bart yet. I need to figure out what I’m supposed to do with this first.”   
  
“And you think I know?” Emma sputters.   
  
“He talks to you!” Faraday insists. “It hasn’t been like it has with me. He was still acknowledging your existence even before he came back out here.”   
  
“For a given value of acknowledging.” She says. “A better way of putting it would be to say he’d let me talk at him, I never got much from him that I couldn’t just as easily have found on the internet. Although, alright, yeah, it’s not exactly a secret that he isn’t over you. I’ve just never heard him admit it out loud before.”   
  
Faraday freezes, a tiny, traitorous curl of hope starting to bloom in his chest. “You – you think he was serious?”   
  
“I think,” Emma says slowly, “that being around you again is making him start to see reason where his behaviour is concerned. Where that’s going to lead you, either of you, however, I have no idea.”   
  
“Ugh,” Faraday sighs deeply. “He’s the most frustrating man on the planet. I hate him.”   
  
Now Emma snorts. “Joshua, your life would probably be a whole lot easier if that were true. And I say that knowing full well the kind of negative impact it’d have on my movie.”   
  
“Thanks, Emma,” he says dryly. “It’s always nice to see how much you care.”   
  
“You know I care. I care about both of you. I just – honestly, for all I always figured it was the case, I never really expected him to admit this, and I really have no idea what to tell you now that he has.”   
  
“Ugh,” Faraday says again, only more fervently this time. “You were right, I should’ve called Red.”   
  
“Probably.” She agrees. “What are you going to do now?”   
  
Faraday groans, long and heartfelt, wishing that he had the slightest clue of what the right answer to that question is, how he's supposed to react. "You should've heard him, Emma," he says tiredly. "He wasn't making any sense, not a lick of it. Kept going on about how I hated him, and he understood that. Where in hell's name did he get that idea?"   
  
"I don't know," she replies, her voice serious. "Maybe that's why he left though? Like, maybe he'd become convinced of it somehow and thought he was getting the hell out of dodge before you could beat him to the punch."   
  
"No," Faraday disagrees vehemently, remembering the actual words Ale had uttered. "You weren't there. He was hard to follow, but - but it was almost like he was saying he didn't want to leave or that it wasn't his idea somehow."   
  
"Wait, what?" Now Emma sounds as confused as he feels. "That doesn't make any sense."   
  
"I know!" Faraday explodes. "Only - he said, fuck, I don't even remember, he was hitting me with so much shit all at once. He said something about how I didn't give him enough time, he needed more time before it was safe to come back. That's the exact word he used, Emma, _safe_ , and then he said by then it was too late because I hated him. He said I'd made it clear to everyone that I did."   
  
"Huh. He's really set on this whole you hating him thing than isn't he?" There's a thoughtful edge to Emma's voice now, however, and it makes Faraday grab for it like a lifeline on the off chance that she might be able to figure this out for him.   
  
"Emma, if you think you've got something please just fucking tell me. I'm going out of my mind here."   
  
"Well," she says slowly, and here her tone turns slightly scolding, like she's thinking of something she's warned him not to do because of the repercussions. "Is it - Joshua what if he's talking about the Blackstone interview? The one from a few months after he left," she adds when he immediately makes a sound of wordless denial. "You did sort of shoot your mouth off there."   
  
"Yeah, but I didn't mean it, not a word!" He insists, wincing the way he always does when he thinks about that interview, shame and embarrassment curling in equal measures in the pit of his stomach. "And I said as much a million times after it happened. Over and over again!"   
  
"Well maybe he didn't see any of those later interviews? Or maybe he just didn't believe them? I don't know. I'm completely spitballing here, but you did say some nasty things in that interview, and about him specifically. Hell, didn't you say you'd be happy if he never set foot on the west coast again?"   
  
"Shit," Faraday breathes, rehashing more of his and Ale’s conversation from earlier. In hindsight it might just be that Ale had been quoting that damn interview. "But I didn't mean any of that," he says again. "He should've known that! He knows what I'm like when I'm worked up and people are picking at me. He's gotten on my case over it I don't know how many times."   
  
Emma sighs tiredly. "Joshua, if there's one thing I think we can all agree on it's that Ale was definitely not thinking clearly when all this went down. If you're right and something forced him into leaving against his will then he probably couldn't tell you weren't serious."   
  
"Not something." Faraday says in a moment of breathtaking, horrifying clarity. "Someone."   
  
"What was that?" Emma asks.   
  
"Nothing," he rushes to assure her. "Or, well, something, but not until I know for certain. I need proof. Can you give me tomorrow morning off?"   
  
"What for?"   
  
"So I can go get proof," he snaps, trying and failing not to sound exasperated. "Jesu wept, Emma, keep up!"   
  
"Joshua, its late and you've been yelling at me hysterically for the past twenty minutes. You're lucky I haven't hung up on you yet."   
  
He freezes guiltily. "I didn't mean to yell," he says quietly, meaning it more than he can say. "It's just - _just_ ."   
  
"I know," she says soothingly, and in the background he hears a sudden low murmur that's probably come from Matthew. It looks like Faraday's bothering the pair of them tonight, he'll have to find a way apologize once this whole mess is sorted.   
  
Too caught up in his own thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize that Emma's speaking again. "... give you the morning, but you're going to have to work fast. Not only can we not afford to fall behind schedule, if word gets out that you're missing time on set we're going to be dealing with a whole host of publicity problems that I don't want. The rumour mill's already crazy, we don't want to feed it."   
  
"Fuck no," he agrees fervently. "I promise I'll be as quick and quiet about this as I can. Just say you've decided to rearrange the shooting schedule for ... reasons."   
  
There's a heavy pause on the other end of the phone, this one with a slightly mocking edge to it. "Why don't you let me come up with the explanation, yeah? You're no good without a script in front of you."   
  
"Ain't that the truth." He's thought more than once that he'd be a lot better around Ale if he had someone writing his dialogue for him. "So you'll give me until, what? Say noon?"   
  
"At the absolute latest," she agrees, "but if you can get in earlier do so."   
  
"Can do," Faraday says gratefully. Then a thought occurs to him. "Oh, but one other thing. Do me a favour - or another one, I guess - and don't tell Ale about the changes until he's on set. I want to be able to find him when this is all over, and he's gotten upsettingly good at getting his head down when he has enough warning."   
  
She hums thoughtfully. "He has, hasn't he? Alright, I'll try, but I'm not making any promises. I can't exactly force him to stay out if I'm telling him I don't need him at the same time."   
  
"I know," Faraday says tiredly. "Trust me, I know. All I'm asking is that you do what you can. Thanks, Emma."   
  
He clicks his phone off to the sound of her yawning out a 'you're welcome', and drops it onto the table with a sigh. Next to him Teeny makes a snuffling sound, pawing at him when he scratches behind her ears.   
  
"I don't know, girlie. I don't fucking know." His mind is racing a mile a minute, and it hits him suddenly that the odds of his getting any sleep tonight are slim to none. "Fucking Christ, how does he always manage to turn me inside out like this?"   
  
Teeny provides no answer, but Faraday dutifully pets her anyway. She's the best dog in the world as far as he's concerned, and it's not her fault she can't tell him what in hell's name has been going on in Ale’s head for the last three years.   
  
"He never used to keep secrets from me, he was a goddamned open book, always told me what he was feeling, if something was bothering him. I should have known it wasn't normal when he left. Fuck, I _did_ know, I just didn't try hard enough to figure it out."   
  
Which was maybe one of the most frustrating things about tonight's mess. Faraday had always felt he'd given in too easy when he'd stopped fighting to get Ale’s attention, and now words from Ale’s own mouth seemed to have proven this belief correct.   
  
"A month," he says dully, ignoring Teeny's inquisitive whine. "He said he needed one more month between the first interview and when he could have come back. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He could've come back whenever!"   
  
Except Ale clearly didn't think so, and honesty forces Faraday to admit that the interview had been pretty damning. He'd known going into it that he was in no shape to be doing so, had in fact told Bart repeatedly that he was on the brink of snapping at the next person who tried to get him to talk about the relationship that had ended so terribly.   
  
Bart hadn't agreed with him, though, Faraday remembers now. He'd said Faraday was better at controlling himself than he thought, and then he'd booked the interview with a man he'd claimed to know and trust.   
  
It dawns on Faraday in a moment of horrible clarity that the whole thing might have been a set up. The interviewer - Denali - had gone right for the throat from the very beginning and things simply went downhill from there.   
  
"I told you!" Faraday had roared at Bart in his office a few hours later while his agent had made exasperated noises and talked about the need to do damage control thanks to Faraday's damnable temper. "I told you this was going to happen if you kept making me do this!"   
  
"Fine, yes, I agree it seems I put too much faith in you for this one," Bart had snapped. "I'm going to try and get ahead of it, but you need to help me with that, and you're going to do it by doing things that'll be good for you in the long run."   
  
"Like what?" Faraday had asked suspiciously, and Bart had jabbed a furious finger in his chest.   
  
"I'll let you avoid any interviews for now, lord knows I don't have much of a choice if this is how you're going to behave, but in return you're going to have to cut whatever ties you have left to that goddamned jackass wherever he's holed himself up!" Bart's eyes had burned as he'd steamrollered right over any protests Faraday tried to make.   
  
"He's not coming back, Joshua! I don't know what you did any more than you do, but it's over. He's gone, and he clearly wants nothing to do with you so you're going to act the same. No more calls, no more texts, emails, anything, and you're staying here in LA for the next while. I refuse to let you go chasing after him, it's done!"   
  
Slipping back into the here and now, Faraday feels his fists clench reflexively. If Ale was telling the truth and he'd left because of something Bart had done, then Faraday had played right into the bastard's hands by doing exactly what he'd been told.   
  
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," he growls. "One way or another."   
  
*****   
  
Filming doesn’t start as planned the next day. Emma comes to tell Vasquez that Joshua has negated the possibility of their getting any work done right off by telling her he’s not coming in this morning, only to freeze when she takes in the glare he levels her way.   
  
“I never should have let you drag me out here,” he says, voice harsh in light of his finally having a target, however misplaced, to take some of his frustration out on. “I knew, I knew it would end terribly, and it has.”   
  
She snorts in response, coming to join him on the couch. “And here I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt over making my other lead actor shirk his responsibilities. I don’t suppose you know where he’s gone?”   
  
“To see Bogue probably,” Vasquez replies.   
  
Emma stiffens her entire body coiling up like a particularly irritated spring. “He had better not be going to try and negotiate a way out of his contract,” she warns ominously. “I’ll let him go if I have to, but the reason for his wanting out will feel my wrath.”   
  
“Not my problem,” he snaps, thoroughly done with everything. “I told you a hundred times this wouldn’t work. A thousand. You should have let it be.”   
  
“All I did was put you in the same room together,” she snaps back. “How you chose to handle it had nothing to do with me.”   
  
He considers snarling at her some more, but instead sags down into the couch, nodding his head in acknowledgment of her point. “I suppose that’s true. I still should have known better than to risk it, however. Honestly, I don’t know why I did. I should have stayed in New York. Better to have let him keep on thinking I didn’t want him anymore.”   
  
“Maybe part of you wanted to finally come clean,” she suggests, showing no surprise whatsoever at the notion that he’s never gotten over Joshua, and he has to admit there may be some truth in what she’s saying.   
  
“Possibly,” he agrees. He scrubs a hand tiredly over his face, fighting against a sudden urge to laugh. “I was an idiot. I made a stupid, stupid mistake, and we both suffered needlessly for it – Joshua even more so than me because I at least knew the reason behind it.”   
  
“My god,” Emma says slowly. Her eyes are comically wide when he moves his hand to look at her. “Look at you, three years and you’ve actually managed to come to the realization that literally everybody else in the world already has. I’m half tempted to throw a party.”   
  
Vasquez scowls at her as she starts clapping sarcastically. “You could at least show a little sympathy,” he grumbles. “I would if our positions were reversed.”   
  
“Yes, but when you’re not breaking the love of your life’s heart, you’re a better person than me,” she informs him. “I engage in multiple tiny expressions of rudeness on a regular basis, while you’ve embraced the concept of go big or go home.”   
  
“I didn’t mean to,” he says then. “I just didn’t see another way out.”   
  
“Well, keeping in mind that I still don’t know your reason for leaving, all I can say is that, yes, you screwed up, and now it’s time for you to own it.” Her gaze sharpens, but he can tell there’s a sense of fondness lurking in her words. Even after all this time, she’s still his friend. “If nothing else, it’s got to be worth something to get the closure.”   
  
He snorts, and shifts to look out the trailer window, wondering idly if Joshua’s managed to track down Bogue yet, and, if so, how the inevitable row is going. “We’ll see if you feel the same way when Joshua gets back. I think the odds are about fifty/fifty he kills me on sight.”   
  
Surprising him, Emma settles more deeply into the couch cushions, squaring her shoulders like she’s preparing for a fight. “I can’t have my two lead actors murdering each other on set. I guess I’ll just have to referee this mess as it happens.”   
  
Vasquez eyes her warily for a moment, and then sits back to mirror her position. He’s got zero intention of letting her stay for what’s no doubt going to be a heated discussion, but until it happens he’ll enjoy the company.   
  
*****   
  
Bart's portly assistant, the one Faraday always feels like he's two seconds away from a heart attack because of how goddamned twitchy and high strung he is, almost vibrates out of his seat when Faraday storms into the office, slamming the main doors open with enough force that one of them swings back and dents the wall behind it.   
  
"Mr. Faraday," the man yelps, and Faraday idly wonders if he was already sweating before his arrival, or if he's merely broken out in it now, the sheen on his forehead is unmistakable. "I wasn't expecting you today."   
  
"Good for you, there's a lot of that going around this morning," Faraday snaps. "Where's Bart?"   
  
"He's, uh, he's in his office," the man - and Faraday really should know his name by now - warbles. He pushes away from his desk and moves to bodily put himself between Faraday and the doors Bart's apparently located behind. "Oh, but you can't go in there right now. He's in a meeting!"   
  
Faraday looks down at where a trembling hand has come to rest on his forearm. He gives the man his best dealing-with-the-shitty-media grin and says as pleasantly as he can, "Either move that hand and get out my way, or I will snap every one of your fingers. You got that?"   
  
The hand vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, and the little weasel darts back behind his desk, clearly determined to put its bulk between himself and Faraday.   
  
"Much obliged," Faraday says, tipping an imaginary hat at him. "Do not tell Bart I'm coming," he adds, when he sees fingers stretch towards the intercom. "I'm in a mood to make him feel a little blindsided today."   
  
With that said, Faraday marches past the assistant's desk, and shoves Bart's personal office doors open hard enough that the resulting slam echoes throughout the room. He's being a little hard on doors today, he realizes, it's a pity he can't bring himself to care.   
  
Bart's sitting back in his patent leather seat when Faraday's eyes land on him, and he looks thoroughly unimpressed with Faraday's show of temper. Across from him, a man and a woman, both of them so impressively botoxed Faraday's surprised either of them can manage the startled expressions on their faces, are staring at him in horrified fascination.   
  
Faraday nods at them. "Get out," he says in a voice that leaves no place for argument. He's not above physically picking them up and throwing them out of it comes to that, and it's possible this might show on his face because they both get up without a word and bolt out of the room, each one giving him a wide berth as they go.   
  
"Joshua," Bart says, and against all odds he actually sounds bored by what's just taken place. "I trust you have a good explanation for this little display because you’ve for some reason sent two representatives from Rolling Stone running from here in fear for their lives. It's going to take me weeks to undo that kind of damage."   
  
"I don't care," Faraday says flatly, "I need to talk to you."   
  
"And this is how you're going about it?" Faraday's never noticed it until now, but Bart has a way of speaking with next to no inflection in his voice and it is extremely irritating. "Good lord, son. What is so important it requires this?"   
  
"What do you think?" Faraday asks, waiting for Bart to clue in. The man's been his agent for years, since before Ale had come into his life the first time even. He knows full well the one thing capable of throwing Faraday off his game like this.   
  
True to form, a thoughtful look crosses Bart's face, the precursor to realization dawning. "Ah," he says slowly, and Faraday just knows that if he had one of those fancy cigarettes he loves so much on hand right now, he'd be pointedly taking a drag. "I take it Vasquez couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer? I knew letting you do this project with him was going to cause problems. Although I’d hoped not.”  
  
"You don't let me do anything, Bart," Faraday growls, bristling at the implication that others make his choices for him. "You may be my damn agent, but you do not have final say in what I do with my life.”   
  
"Well, obviously." Bart sighs. "That's why Vasquez was such a problem."   
  
Faraday freezes. "What's that supposed to mean?" He still has no idea what Ale had been getting at last night, but it at least looked like he'd been telling the truth when he'd said Bart knew more than he'd ever let on.   
  
Bart cocks his head, idly swivelling his chair back and forth before he speaks again. "What'd the bastard tell you?"   
  
Trying to hide some of his rising tension - he'd never liked hearing Ale be insulted in the past, and he doesn't like it now - Faraday shrugs. "Not much. All I managed to get out of him was that leaving wasn't his idea, and if I didn't believe him I should ask you."   
  
"Hmm," Bart says thoughtfully. "Really? That was it? So, he's determined to keep protecting people to the end, then. How surprisingly noble of him."   
  
"Protecting who? What're you talking about?" Leaning forward, Faraday slams his fists on the polished glass top of Bart's desk and glares at the other man for all he's worth. He's got a sneaking suspicion that he's spent the last three years being furious with the wrong person, and the idea does not still well with him. "Damnit, Bart, what did you do to him?"   
  
"What I had to do," Bart replies, still not raising his voice, not even in the face of Faraday's ever rising ire. "He needed to go, so I made it happen."   
  
"Needed to -?" Faraday echoes, unable to believe what he's hearing. "What in the fuck's name is that supposed to mean? He didn't need to go anywhere! He was exactly where he was supposed to be - here, with me!"   
  
Now Bart rolls his eyes, like he thinks Faraday's the one who sounds unreasonable here. "Joshua, he was going to ruin you. I had you right on the cusp of breaking into the big leagues until he came along and somehow made you stop caring about moving forward. It was bad enough I had to deal with the media storm of you with another man, but every time I turned around you were turning down important roles in favour of letting him drag you into whatever jumped up, artsy indie project he'd found that week. Your career was going to be over before it'd even begun, and it was all because you were following that bastard around wherever he went. You were like a damn dog, desperate for his attention."   
  
Faraday gapes at him. It hadn't been like that - it hadn't been like that at all. Yes, he'd signed on to do projects with Ale, but they were good pieces, they were fun. The two of them had worked so well together they'd been creating art, feeding off each other and getting noticed as one unit.   
  
Sure, it wasn't quite as fast as the rise he'd had once Ale was no longer in the picture, but so what? He'd been _happy_ , and, hell, half the reason for the rise had been him throwing himself into his work as a distraction from his own misery. He wants to say as much, but it wasn't like Bart didn't already know it. So, instead, all he does is ask plaintively, "What did you do?"   
  
Bart shrugs easily, making Faraday think that whatever the answer's going to turn out to be, it sure has shit hasn't cost him any sleep over the years. "I used his heritage to my advantage. Honestly, once I'd done a little digging it wasn't hard to find the ammunition. A pack of younger sisters and a single mother who'd been forced to support them all on her own since the death of her husband? One that he'd do just about anything for? Honestly, if it was any more of a clichéd sob story I'd cry."   
  
"What," Faraday says with a growing note of panic swelling in his belly, "are you saying? Get to the fucking point, Bart."   
  
"I threatened to have his family looked into," is the reply, as calm and collected as you please. "The fear of being labelled as illegal immigrants is such a ... powerful one these days."   
  
Faraday stares at him, unable to believe what he's hearing. "They're not – his parents brought them over exactly like they were allowed to. It was all perfectly legal!" He knows that story, has heard Ale speak with nothing but respect for the parents who'd dragged six children to a brand new country and then still had two more once they were there.   
  
"Of course it was," Bart says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "but that wouldn't have stopped an investigation. Think about it, all those little girls in front of a court, being grilled on whether or not they'd broken the law and mama too. Even ignoring the trauma and the scandal, she'd probably have lost her job. And on top of all that, he wasn't a big enough name to be able to use stardom to protect them; he'd only have made things worse if he'd tried."   
  
“And then, of course,” he adds with relish, “there was the sick one. An investigation would of suspended their health insurance, which might very well have killed her.”   
  
Faraday freezes. “Sick one?” He echoes. Ale had never once mentioned one of the girls being sick. “What’re you talking about?”   
  
“Eh, all I know is it was one of the little ones. Second youngest, I think.” Bart wrinkles his nose in thought, and then just as obviously dismisses the issue as beneath his notice. “She had some kind of heart problem where she needed a pacemaker put in, and they’d never have managed it without insurance.”   
  
Bart pauses, then, frowning for a second before continuing on. "He didn't believe me at first, but I kept on him. He didn’t know his sister was sick, you see. His mother had been keeping it from him. All I had to do once I found out was slap a medical file in front of him, and wait for him to run to mommy to confirm it."   
  
"Yes, fair’s fair. I backed him into a corner until his only choices were either to bite or roll over and show me his soft underbelly." Bart smiles, and it's one of the most grotesque things Faraday's ever seen. It sets his stomach roiling. "In case you were wondering, he chose to roll over. Oh, but don’t worry, the kid wound up fine in the end."   
  
Faraday flinches as the full force of what he's hearing sinks in. All this time he'd thought Ale had left because of something Faraday himself had done, and now it turns out he couldn't have been more wrong.   
  
“You did all this," he says slowly, feeling a curl of rage start stirring in his gut, and quick on its heels a hot lick of shame, "basically ruined _both_ our lives because you didn't like the career choices _I_ was making? That's insane!"   
  
"No, it's business," Bart snaps, losing some of his vaunted composure in the face of Faraday's sputtering disbelief. "I had you right on the edge of something huge, and you were going to ruin everything I'd worked for all so you could get your dick into some - some - !"   
  
Faraday cuts him off with a snarl, low and dangerous. "Bart, if I were you, I would think _very_ carefully about the words that were about to come out of my mouth."   
  
His agent - very soon to be former agent - doesn't flinch, but it's a near thing. It looks like Bart might be cluing in to how much trouble he's in. Faraday gets the impression the man's suddenly glad of the large desk separating them. "It wasn't personal, Joshua," he says slowly, with more nerve than Faraday can believe him capable of mustering. "I needed him out of the way, and this was the only way he was going to leave. Honestly, he brought it on himself."   
  
The desk very abruptly isn't enough distance between the two of them as it isn't big enough to stop Faraday's lunge across it. A crack rings out and Bart's head snaps back as Faraday's fist connects with his jaw.   
  
"Goddamnit, Joshua!" He barks, one hand coming up to prod at the abused flesh, the fingers getting spattered with blood thanks to a split lip. "This is why I knew I couldn't tell you about everything. You are an utter imbecile where that man is concerned."   
  
"That," Faraday pants harshly as he looks down at his knuckles and notes that two of them have split, "is true, but not in the way you mean it. I never should have trusted you, not for anything."   
  
"Oh, please," Bart scoffs, his words slurring slightly as his mouth begins to swell, "I made you. Thanks to me you've got more influence in this town than just about anyone else. That never would have happened if you hadn't had me."   
  
"Yeah, you're right about that one." Faraday agrees. Of the three people in this mess, Ale’s the only one who's innocent. Bart may have pulled the trigger, but Faraday had still been complicit in his actions by not seeing it coming. "Too bad for you I'm not interested in what you're selling anymore. You stay the hell away from the people I care about, asshole. Otherwise, next time I won't stop at just one punch."   
  
That said, he turns and stalks out of the office, intent on putting as much distance between himself and Bart Bogue as he can physically manage. A thought occurs to him, and he sticks his head back in the door before he leaves. "Oh, and in case you hadn't figured it out yet, you're fucking fired!"   
  
The mousy assistant is waiting outside in the foyer, but Faraday doesn't pay him any attention as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and punches in the number he's been pretending not to have memorized since the moment Emma had handed it over. It rings incessantly and then heads into voicemail. Faraday growls and hits the call button again as he steps into the elevator and stabs at the marker for the ground floor. When Ale still doesn't pick up, Faraday switches into his contacts list and selects Emma's number.   
  
"What?" She snaps after several rings have gone through. Faraday would make a crack about her poor phone manners, but his are no better.   
  
"Where is he?" He demands, not bothering with names since there's no question who 'he' is in this scenario. "Emma, so help me God, I've already punched one person over him today and I am not above hitting a woman."   
  
"Oh, fuck off," she says, but then immediately earns herself brownie points by adding, "he's right here. Being as much of an overdramatic asshole as you, apparently. Dare I ask where you are?”   
  
There's a muffled noise in the background, presumably Ale saying something, and Emma says, her voice tiny, like she's no longer talking directly into the phone, "You, shut up. I’m mad at you too. Don’t forget that."   
  
Her voice jumps back to regular volume. "Joshua, what did you do? You tell me right now if you’ve destroyed my project by having Bart find a way to weasel you out of it." More muffled talking in the background. "I said be quiet, Ale!”   
  
"Stop yelling at him, Emma," Faraday barks, "I didn’t quit your damn movie, and I’ve got more important things to worry about right now. Where are you?”   
  
She goes quiet, and Faraday bites back another string of curses. "Emma, please, for the love of god tell me where you are."   
  
Something must show in his voice because Emma lets out a sigh of her own on the other end of the line and says, "We're in his trailer. He's been sulking in here all morning. Oh, yes, you have," she adds with a snap. "It's pathetic and is making me feel less sorry for you by the minute."   
  
Faraday doesn't know how much longer he can handle this three way conversation with Emma as a go between. The whole things is doing nothing for his nerves. "Emma, stay where you are, and above all else keep him with you. If he tries to bolt, you fucking sit on him."   
  
She snorts. "Like that would do any good, I'm half his size."   
  
"Emma!"   
  
"Fine, fine. I'll do it, but if things just wind up worse after this I'm personally going to kick both your asses."   
  
"Deal," Faraday agrees, "I'll be there as soon as I can."   
  
*****   
  
Faraday doesn't remember the trip to the set, it passes in a blur, all he knows is that one moment he’s leaving Bart’s office, but the next he’s weaving his way between the trailers on set, heading for the one Ale’s been assigned. He doesn't bother knocking; he just twists the door handle and pulls it back with a soft click as he climbs inside.   
  
Ale’s sitting slumped on the couch, looking exhausted. Emma's beside him, glaring back and forth between first him and then Faraday as he comes into the trailer. She should look small next to him, almost dainty, but somehow she manages to look like the wrath of god personified instead.   
  
Ale doesn't look up when Faraday steps inside, keeping his eyes focused elsewhere, but Emma does. Her eyes meet Faraday's, and for all her bluster on the phone about how this is ridiculous and she doesn't want to deal with it, all that melts into a look of concern. He's hit not for the first time with the realization of how little they deserve her, and gives her a grateful nod before he can think better of it.   
  
She holds his gaze for several moments longer, seemingly like she's searching for something, or perhaps waiting. Whatever it is, she must find it because she nods her head and slowly backs away from the couch. “I suppose," she says quietly, "that I can trust you two to stay civil.”   
  
Ale doesn't say anything, he's too busying staring at a point on the wall somewhere above Faraday’s right shoulder, as if by not making eye contact he can somehow pretend nothing’s happening.   
  
Tearing his gaze away, Faraday focuses back on Emma and nods again. "We'll be fine," he says, and doesn't miss it when Ale snorts. "Honest."   
  
He half expects Emma to just glare at him skeptically, but she must really trust what she sees on his face because she doesn't. Instead she nods, pauses to take a moment to smack Ale on the shoulder, a move she probably means to be affectionate for all that the average person would never see it as such, and then heads out of the trailer.   
  
Once she's gone, Faraday takes a deep breath and racks his brain for a place to start. He's always been a showman at heart, it's why he loves what he does and why he does it so well, and that's why what he eventually settles on is crossing the short distance to Ale and dropping down on one knee in front of him. He waits as patiently as he can for a few seconds, and when Ale still won't look at him, he reaches up and gently takes the other man's chin in one hand, nudging him around until he can look into dark, solemn eyes.   
  
Faraday had tried to think up a place to start this conversation on his mad dash over here, but he hadn't been able to come up with anything. He can't stay silent forever though, so he takes a deep, calming breath, lets it out slowly, and says only a little desperately, "Why didn't you just tell me?"   
  
Ale drops his eyes instantly, his gaze skittering around the edge of the trailer and landing anywhere but on Faraday. At the same time, his back straightens, muscles going tense like he’s preparing for another fight.   
  
"No," Faraday says, quiet but firm. He shakes Ale just a little for added measure. "No, you don't get to do that this time. Come on and look at me, sweetheart. Please."   
  
Ale’s eyes snap back on him at the sound of the endearment, but he still doesn't say anything. His throat works like he's thinking about it, but that's all.   
  
Faraday sighs, and leans forward until he can rest their foreheads together. "I," he starts, "am so, incandescently angry with you right now ... almost as angry as I am with myself."   
  
He feels Ale stiffen through every spot where they're touching, and he's ready for it when the other man tries to pull away. "No,” he says firmly, not releasing his grip. "This has gone on long enough. I figure it's high time we dealt with it."   
  
"You shouldn't be angry at yourself," Ale says, speaking for the first time. He sounds tired, to the point that Faraday feels something break inside of him, something altogether different than the part of him that's been warped and twisted since Ale had left him behind.   
  
"I shouldn't," he says flatly, trying his best to keep his own emotions in check. "How am I supposed to do that when this is all my fault?" He laughs then, without any humour. "I spent years being so angry with you, I blamed you for everything, and it turns out all along the only person to blame was me."   
  
"That's not true," Ale insists. He brings his own hands up, curling them over Faraday's and then dragging both sets down into his lap where they lay there still clasped together. One of them is shaking, Faraday can feel it. He thinks it might be him, or maybe it's both of them. What does he know?   
  
"It is true," he says, needing Ale to believe him. "I'm the one who somehow missed this for years, who had his head so far up his ass he couldn't see Bart for the devil he actually was. I let this happen."   
  
"Joshua, no. Shut up." Ale shakes his head, but by some miracle doesn't move to pull away any further, something for which Faraday is going to be forever grateful. "You're right. If I had just told you what was going on, it never would have come to this. Believe me, I know that. I have known that for years."   
  
"Why didn't you?" Faraday asks again. He's been turning that question over and over in his mind since he'd found out the truth, and he still can't think of an answer. Ale is no idiot. Hell, he’s probably the smarter of the two of them. He had to have known Faraday would have understood, that he would have done everything in his power to fix it.   
  
"I panicked," he says, dragging Faraday out of his own head and back to the situation at hand. His hand clenches tightly over Faraday's, but Faraday has no intention of letting go, he just leans back and waits for Ale to get the words out. They're slow coming at first, but faster as he keeps going, perhaps emboldened by Faraday's willingness to listen without interrupting for once.   
  
"I didn't believe him at first. I thought he was joking when he invited me over to his office and told me what he wanted. I _laughed_ at him, told him I wasn't going anywhere, told him he couldn't _make_ me go anywhere. He didn't stop though."   
  
Ale’s eyes go distant, and Faraday has a sneaking suspicion he's no longer seeing the inside of the trailer but something far more sinister. "I was a little worried when he first threatened Mama and the girls, but even that wasn't enough to get me to leave right away." He swallows. "Then I found out Lena was sick."     
  
Just like it had before, Faraday's gut clenches at the mere thought of this. He knows Lena, has met her and Rosa, the youngest sibling, more often than the rest of Ale’s sisters because they'd always been living at home when he'd visited. The thought of her health being threatened is enough to wound him to his core, to say nothing for what it must have done to her brother.   
  
“She’s alright, isn’t she?” He asks. “Bart told me she had some kind of heart condition, and that was basically the straw that broke the camel’s back for you.”   
  
"Ventricular Arrhythmias," Ale says, like that’s going to clarify anything. "It’s, well, never mind what it is. It’s treatable though, but expensive. Even with my career, if the health insurance got cut off she was going to be in trouble. As soon as Mama told me, I knew."   
  
He takes a deep breath and looks Faraday squarely in the eye, his tension only belied by the way his fingers are spasming as he tries to keep his emotions in check. "That was when I realized how much clout Bogue had, and what lengths he was willing to go to."   
  
"Fuck," Faraday says succinctly, and Ale laughs weakly.   
  
“That was pretty much the gist of it, sí." He shrugs. "I could have still told you, but you'd been in London the whole time, half a world away. We were barely able to cross paths long enough for a five minute phone conversation on a good day. How was I supposed to tell you what was happening and have you believe me?”   
  
Now, that last part isn't fair, and Faraday opens his mouth to say so, only to snap it shut again instead. Ale doesn't need that from him right now. Later, if it turns out there is a later for them, they can hash out the rest. What he says is, "Bart probably waited to move until I was away on purpose. Having me around at the time would've been too big a risk. Plus," he adds thoughtfully, "I'd've noticed you leaving if I'd actually been there to see it."   
  
"Yes, well," Ale shrugs as best as he's able, the movement bringing attention to the slight tremor his shoulders have picked up. He licks his lips, suddenly looking more hesitant than he has for this entire conversation.   
  
"I always planned to come back,” he admits. “I only really left because I couldn’t risk Lena’s surgery being delayed. Everything else Bogue was threatening could’ve been dealt with without massive repercussions. Except, then the Blackstone interview dropped.”   
  
Faraday freezes, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of the room as he once again realizes just how much of the misery of the past three years has been of his own making. He swallows thickly. "I ... didn't realize you'd seen that."   
  
Ale gives him the look he always does when he's being intentionally dense. "Joshua, everyone and their dog saw that. It was everywhere. I was getting mics shoved in my face about it for _months_ . I still get asked about it today, meirda."   
  
Faraday winces and pulls his hands back to run them through his hair. "I didn't mean it," he says, wishing for the millionth time he could go back in time and keep his younger self from shooting his mouth off the way he had. "Even then, even with how angry I was, I didn't mean _any_ of it."   
  
"Well, yes, I know that _now_ ." Ale shrugs, looking far more calm about the whole mess than Faraday feels is warranted. "I just - in the interest of full disclosure, I need you to understand. I haven't avoided you for this long because I didn't love you or because I was still afraid of what Bogue would do. I mainly did it because I thought it was what you wanted."   
  
"So, this really is all my fault then," Faraday says because how else is he supposed to take that. If he'd just managed to not let his hurt feelings out when there was a camera nearby, he could have gotten Ale back years ago and things would have been so much better.   
  
A sharp stinging sensation drags him out of the thought spiral he'd been about to head down, and he looks at Ale, who frowns in response and draws his fingers back from where he's just pinched them into Faraday's shoulder.   
  
"You are not listening," he says exasperatedly, "or you are being deliberately obtuse. One or the other. I am not blaming you, and I realize now you were only lashing out because you were hurt. The problem is, at the time, I thought you meant it, so I stayed away. You stopped trying to get in touch with me, stopped leaving messages entirely, and I took that as further proof you didn't want me back. If anyone is to blame, it's me for not at least trying to tell you the truth."   
  
"Uh  huh, nope," Faraday disagrees. "If I don't get to play the blame game, neither do you. C'mere." Getting to his feet, Faraday shoves at Ale until he shuffles over on the couch and makes space for both them. Greatly daring, Faraday doesn't settle for just sitting next to him, and slings an arm around his shoulders.   
  
"Fuck, but aren't we a pair," he says with his voice pitched low. Possibly against his better judgment, he tilts his head so that he can press a kiss onto Ale’s dark curls and then he does it again when no protest is forthcoming. "I have missed you so much."   
  
"You are ridiculous," Ale mutters into Faraday's shoulder. "You are supposed to _hate_ me."   
  
"Ain't never been much for doing what I'm supposed to," Faraday points out. "You know that better than most."   
  
"Sí, that's true." Ale heaves out a sigh that sends him shuddering, and Faraday holds him tighter. He feels it as Ale nuzzles his face into his shoulder and allows himself a small smile.   
  
"Doing alright there, sweetheart?" He asks, hoping this won't somehow sound like a signal for the other man to pull away.   
  
It must not because Ale stays exactly where he is, his only movement being a minute shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know if I know the answer to that question anymore. Do you?"   
  
Stalling for time before replying, Faraday starts carding the fingers of his left hand through Ale’s hair, something he'd always loved to do both because he enjoyed the feel of the silken strands on his skin and because Ale could always be counted on to start making contented noises.   
  
Right on cue, he starts doing so now, letting out something akin to a purr, and Faraday huffs out a quiet laugh at the sound. "Missed that too," he says, keeping up his ministrations. "Also, just so we're clear, I don't think I could ever hate you - hate what you did, sure, but never you."   
  
Ale’s quiet for several moments. "I don't remember you being this forgiving," he says finally, and Faraday laughs again, louder this time.   
  
"Maybe I'm mellowing in my old age," he suggests. He stills his stroking fingers then, but only so that he can pull back enough to see Ale’s expression, wanting to try and get a read on what the other man is thinking. He cups face in his hands, shifting them a little until they're resting on the back of the other man's neck, and when Ale brings his own hands up and curls them around Faraday's wrists, he makes no move to make him pull back. Not wanting to break the other man's gaze, Faraday licks suddenly dry lips. "So," he says softly. "Now what?"

  
Ale smiles. It's small, but Faraday thinks it's the first real one he's seen from him since this whole thing had begun. "I don't know, guero. Your guess is as good as mine."   
  
Faraday blinks, Ale hasn't called him by that silly nickname since - since their last phone conversation before he’d flown home to an empty space three years ago, which might explain the nervous look on his face right now, come to think of it.   
  
"You fucker," Faraday breathes, smiling wide so Ale knows he doesn't mean it. He feels like he's flying, like his chest is going to burst open under the force of everything he's feeling and the sheer magnitude of it all is going to send him whirling into the atmosphere.   
  
“You absolute _fucker_! I love you," he says then because if he doesn't, the force of holding it in might actually kill him. "I love you so fucking much. I loved you before, I loved you when you were gone, I love you now, and goddamnit I'll love you for the rest of our lives if you'll let me."   
  
Ale stares at him, and for one terrifying second, Faraday thinks he's gone too far, that he's overdone things as he's wont to do, that he's managed to ruin this thing before it has the chance to get off the ground again. Then Ale’s surging forward and Faraday has a lapful of squirming, possibly-not-so-ex-boyfriend and is being kissed within an inch of his life.   
  
"Jesus!" Faraday yelps, when he gets slammed into the arm of the couch and the resulting scramble to stay upright causes them to break apart. "We are not having sex in here," he insists once he can breathe again but before Ale can dive in for another kiss. "The couch is too small and my back will regret it and fucking hell, what am I saying? I really did get old without realizing it."   
  
"You're thirty, Joshua. You're not dead." Ale replies, but he's laughing, the sound loud and bright and all but echoing off the walls of the room. Faraday wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life.   
  
"I'm really not," Faraday agrees fervently, reaching for Ale with both hands, thrilled beyond belief when the other man comes willingly. "I might be dreaming because lord knows I've had this one a thousand times, but I'm definitely not dead."   
  
Ale freezes then, his eyes going sad. "I'm sorry," he says in a rush, getting the apology out before Faraday can stop him. "Querido, I never wanted to cause you pain, and I know I did, and I know I could have fixed it years ago."   
  
Faraday shushes him with an index finger placed over his lips. "Enough," he says then. "No more." He pulls the finger away, but shakes it when Ale opens his mouth. "Truth be told, I might not have been ready hear you at first. Once I got through the stages of grief and hurt there was a whole fuckload of anger as well. It might be good that we're only doing this now."   
  
"Yes, but it would have been best if we'd never had to do it at all," Ale says, and Faraday shrugs philosophically.   
  
"Can't change the past, sweetheart, only the future."   
  
Ale rolls his eyes. Faraday knows something so simple shouldn't delight him, but it does. "You sound like a fortune cookie platitude." He grumbles, although he says it without much heat.   
  
Faraday laughs and leans in to kiss him, chasing the smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. He lets himself get lost in that for a while, in the feeling of relearning what Ale likes. He hasn't forgotten, not really, but every touch somehow feels brand new, even though there's no part of the other man that he hasn't spent days and nights mapping out at his leisure.   
  
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he says after several minutes have gone past. Ale cocks a quizzical eyebrow at him, and Faraday repeats, “Now what?”   
  
Ale chews absently on his bottom lip, before shrugging. “I want you back, if you’ll have me,” he says hurriedly. “I make no promises we’ll work this time. A lot’s happened, a lot has changed, but I want to try.”   
  
Faraday feels a swell of relief as the residual tension he’s been carrying around with him for the past however many years finally, finally fades. “Yes,” he says laughing giddily. He knows Ale has a point, that there’s so much water under the bridge by now that they might crash and burn even more spectacularly than they had before, but he also knows there’s no way he’s going to let that stop him. If Ale’s willing to take the risk, he’s going to return the favour. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”   
  
Rolling his eyes again, Ale pokes him admonishingly on the forehead. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, guero. This isn’t going to be easy. We’re different people, different lives, different homes, everything.”   
  
It’s on the tip of Faraday’s tongue to say he doesn’t care about any of that, but Ale’s right. If they’re going to make this work this time, they have to figure out how they fit together all over again.   
  
“We’ll take it slow,” he says in all evidence to the contrary as he grips Ale’s hand and brushes a number of tiny kisses along his knuckles. “We’re in each other’s space no matter what until filming wraps up, and then it’ll be press tours and the like, all together. That’ll give us time.”   
  
“And after that?” Ale asks, wriggling his fingers when Faraday kisses them again.   
  
“After that we discuss in depth what we want and how we think we can go about getting it.” Faraday says.   
  
“Oh we will, will we?” Ale asks, freeing his hand from Faraday’s clutches and tracing the pads of his fingers along the side of his face. “When did you get so reasonable?”   
  
Faraday doesn’t want to answer that, has no desire to tell Ale about how he’s lain awake at night thinking about what he could possibly have done to drive him away and how he could fix it if he ever managed to get him back, so instead he shakes his head and refuses to do so. “I just want to be smart about this,” he says, and it’s not as if that’s a lie.   
  
Ale nods then, seemingly content to take him at his word. “Being smart would certainly help.”   
  
“Glad to hear you agree with me, darlin’,” Faraday drawls. Huffing out a laugh, he hooks his arms around the back of Ale’s neck, effectively trapping the other man in place. “Just promise me this,” he says, and now he turns serious. “If you need to leave again, please tell me why. That’s all I’m asking.”   
  
Ale’s smile still has a hint of embarrassment, or maybe shame, but it’s real enough to be sure. “I promise, Joshua.”   
  
*****   
  
The Lavender Brook press tour is even more grueling than usual thanks to the way the media jumps all over his and Ale’s ‘miraculous reconciliation’. Their go to line when asked about it has simply been “there was a misunderstanding and now there isn’t”, but that hasn’t been enough to satisfy a single reporter, meaning that questions have kept coming no matter how obvious they make it that they aren’t going to discuss it further.   
  
Given all of the above, one would think Faraday would be able to sleep in his first morning back in the condo following weeks on the road. For some reason he can’t, however, and instead finds himself brewing coffee at half past six in the morning, blinking blearily down at his iPad as he idly pages through the newsfeed while he waits for his caffeine fix to be ready.   
  
Then he reads one, specific breaking news headline, and he abruptly loses all need for caffeine.   
  
Jerking around so quickly he’s pretty sure he strains something, he bolts in the direction of the bedroom, runs back to the kitchen when he’s halfway there because he realizes he’s forgotten to turn off the coffee maker, and then resumes his initial mad dash, not stopping until he’s flung the door open and landed on the bed with a heavy thump.   
  
A grunt that’s one part confused one part annoyed sounds out from beneath the tangle of blankets, and Faraday shoves an inquisitive Teeny away with his free hand from where she’s migrated into the spot he’d previously occupied before going in search of sustenance. “Not now, girlie, he needs to see this. Oy, sleeping beauty! Wake up!”   
  
The duvet gets shoved back and Ale, his eyes half lidded and his hair a riotous mess of dark curls, makes a beleaguered whining noise. “ _Que?_ ”   
  
Faraday, accosted for the who-knows-how-many-th time by feelings of delight at having this idiot back in his life again, is momentarily distracted from his quest at the sight. Then he remembers why he’d come in here, and waves the iPad in Ale’s face. “Look!”   
  
“Joshua, if you just woke me up after I’ve had maybe four hours of sleep to show me a new bejewelled high score, I am going to be very upset.”   
  
Part of Faraday is impressed that Ale’s managed to string that many words together in a coherent sentence at the same time he’s listing to the side after a failed attempt to sit upright, but the rest of him is too caught up in his news to point this out. He waves the iPad again. “I promise it’s worth it, darlin’. Just look.”   
  
Ale tries and fails to focus on the device, only to give up and sag futilely back into the pillows. Yawning, he flaps a tired hand at Faraday. “If it’s that important you can read it to me.”   
  
“Fine.” Unwilling to wait any longer, Faraday shoves at Teeny until she grudgingly relinquishes a portion of his spot over to him, and flops onto his back for a better reading position. “I was checking through the news feeds to see if anything interesting happened while we were away, and I found this. ‘Disgraced Former Hollywood Agent Charged With Multiple Counts of Breach of Privacy’.”   
  
Next to him, Ale freezes where he’s in the process of using one hand to try and rub the sleep out of his eyes. Slowly, he lets the hand drop down, and turns to look at Faraday with an unreadable expression on his face. “What was that?”   
  
Obediently, Faraday repeats the headline, after which he proceeds to delve into the actual article. “Bartholomew Bogue, a former A List agent who made a name for himself representing the likes Joshua Faraday – You may have heard of him, I hear he’s pretty popular. Hey, no pinching! – before an abrupt and unexpected fall from grace several months ago has now wound up in more hot water. An unnamed source has directed the LAPD towards some of Mr. Bogue’s shadier business deals over the course of his career. While police have not revealed many details of the case, it appears he may have been guilty of several ethical and privacy violations involving his former clients. Indeed, a local police spokesperson has indicated that more charges may follow as the investigation continues.”   
  
Faraday pauses then, tearing his eyes away from the iPad and zeroing his gaze in on Ale, who looks shell-shocked to say the least. “I can keep going if you like, but that’s the gist of it. Basically the old bastard is even more screwed than he was before I got him blacklisted from ever working in this town again.”   
  
Ale swallows heavily twice, and when he speaks his voice is rough. “Did you do this?”   
  
“Well,” Faraday considers how best to answer the question. “Not exactly,” he finally settled on. “I talked to Sam – you know how he’s never liked Bart – and asked him to kind of … pass a message along for me. Quiet like. He kept our names out of it.”   
  
“It’ll come out in the end,” Ale tells him. “You know it will.” His tone is hushed, like he doesn’t know what he’s feeling, and it occurs to Faraday for the first time that maybe he should have consulted him before saying anything.   
  
“Shit,” he says. Tossing the iPad onto the nearby end table, he rolls over and reaches for Ale’s hand, relieved beyond measure when the other man laces their fingers together without hesitation. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you if you wanted to go after him more.”   
  
“He could go to jail,” Ale says now, his grip on Faraday’s hand tightening.   
  
“Could be,” Faraday agrees. “I mean, I guess it might depend on what else the cops find, but anything’s possible.”   
  
“Mhmm, but even if he doesn’t, he’s ruined. Everyone will know what he did, what kind of man he is.” Ale raises his head, and when he looks at Faraday his eyes are bright. “He won’t be able to touch my family. Or anyone else’s.”   
  
Faraday smiles at him. “Yeah, sweetheart, that’s kind of what I was aiming for.”   
  
Ale shifts up then, props himself up on his free hand until he’s looming over Faraday. “I love you. So much.”   
  
Relieved, Faraday shakes his hand free of Ale’s grasp, choosing to curl it and its fellow around the man’s neck to drag him down into a kiss. “Love you too, darlin’.”   
  
  
  



End file.
